


Swords and Slippers

by TheCrackedKatana



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ballet!Hux, Ballet/Martial Artist AU, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, I don't know how this happened, M/M, Martial Artist!Kylo, Sickfic, but he does get better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-07-12 13:08:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 38,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7105321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCrackedKatana/pseuds/TheCrackedKatana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendol Hux is not used to sharing his space with anyone for any reason, least of all some barbaric swordsman who walks around shirtless and barefoot, swinging dangerous weapons.  With the local dojo flooded and temporarily unusable, the owner of one of the largest dance studios in the area offers to share its space with the displaced students.  It's hatred and misunderstanding at first sight until an error in Hux's judgment forces the two into a situation neither could have anticipated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1-17-18: Please note that I probably will not finish this piece. I have moved on from this particular ship, but who knows what the future may bring!!
> 
> I DON'T KNOW HOW THIS HAPPENED. I just kept seeing all this art of Ballet Dancer Hux on my dash and I couldn't help myself, okay. However, I know approximately zero about ballet, but you know what I do know? Martial arts. Look what happened. Updates will be dependent on how quickly I finish other things, but I'll aim for at least every 10 days or so. WE SHALL SEE.

The dreary afternoon weather is relentless patter of rain, dark clouds obscuring any hope of sunlight, the threat of sleet looming as the temperature continues to drop. Miserable conditions for practicing in the park, but thankfully, there is another alternative.

He pulls the wad of keys from his pocket, sifting through them until he find the one with the blue tip, the key to the studio. While he would prefer nature, any dry space that is not his cramped apartment will do.

It takes some effort to force the lock into relenting, a big of jiggling and cursing before the mechanism within cooperates and grants him entrance. Music greets his ears as he turns to lock the door. Tchaikovsky from the sound of it. Which can only mean one thing.

 _He_ is here.

Kylo stiffens, turns back slowly.

The lithe nuisance of man is already engaged in his absurd combinations of leaps and jumps, feet barely skimming the floor, the lean perfection of his form landing again and again with practiced, flawless precision. Or at least, so far as Kylo can tell. He knows nothing of such things, nothing of ballet or proper terminology. He knows wood and steel, heated and folded to perfection, forged into the finest weaponry a man can make. He knows of balance and patience.

Seeing that red-headed bastard is severely testing the latter.

The other man ceases his leaping and comes to a scowling standstill, one hand upon his slender hip, feet poised at angles that cannot possibly be comfortable or natural. He stalks over to where Kylo stands, shirt sliding from his freckled shoulder, as if he is a child having raided his mother's closet.

"What," he says, "are _you_ doing here."

As if Kylo has no right to be there. As if _he_ is the nuisance.

_Right._

"Practice," Kylo says.

He drops his duffle bag of weaponry upon the ground with a clunk and pulls the top of his hair away from his face, binding it with a rubber band from his wrist.

"You cannot be serious," the ginger bastard huffs.

Kylo stoops to remove a bokken from the sack of swords. "I'm serious."

"I do not suppose I could convince you to come back in two hours," the man says.

Kylo rises to his feet. "No."

"Fine." The other man's eyes are a fierce light green, his fair complexion reddened by exertion. "You stay on _your_ side of this facility."

Kylo drapes the flat edge of the wooden practice sword over his shoulder. "Get off my mat."

The other man glances down at his slipper-clad feet and takes several retreating steps before haughtily stalking back to the wooden floor.

_Fucking prima donna._

Ignoring the blare of classical music is easy enough for Kylo, who has had more experience in dismissing noise than most could imagine. His apartment resides on the 5th floor of the building directly behind the studio, a complex which faces one of the busier streets and is brimming with locals ranging from college students to newly minted graduates with little money. Chaos is rampant, the noise level often unpredictable, but Kylo has managed for several years now. A bit of overdone Tchaikovsky is the least of his concerns.

He sheds the thin cling of the long-sleeved T-shirt he grabbed on his way out of the door, the one with a hole in the armpit that his mother would very much like to rip into cleaning rags whenever she sees him wear it, but the sentiment of the kanji emblazoned across the front has formed a peculiar attachment in his mind and he cannot bring himself to toss the garment away. A compromise that he simply not wear it in Leia's presence had been reached. Although, he could argue the same of her with a certain tattered leather jacket.

_Hmmn, well._

Before he begins the actual practice of his chosen kata, he sets the bokken down and takes a while to loosen his body into a more pliant state, rotating his wrists, shrugging his shoulders, performing a series of snap-kicks and lunges. He pays no mind to the other man cavorting about on the opposite end of the building. His focus is the blade, the precision of the movement of his wrist, the balance of the wooden hilt within his hand, the attention to the coordination of muscles in his core. Sword work is an entire body act, not something done merely with one's arm. There is no hurry to his movements, no quick sharpness, no jabbing or cutting arcs. It is a demonstration in control, fluidity of slow, intricate movement. He does not need the mirrors upon the wall to confirm the correctness of his form. The balance of his body tells him without the visual reference.

His focus narrows until it is only himself, the sword an extension of his arm, not separate, but a part of him. The music fades. His eyes flutter shut.

There is nothing . . . nothing but----

The sound of Tchaikovsky is interrupted by something far different than music. Kylo pauses, shifts his gaze to one side without turning his head. The other man has buried his face in the crook of his elbow, falling victim to a prolonged, heaving cough that has left him breathless and panting.

The Tchaikovsky cuts off abruptly and Kylo arches an eyebrow.

"What are _you_ looking at?" the other man demands as he storms from the rehearsal space and down the nearest hallway.

Kylo says nothing as watches the dancer flounce away and makes no effort to refrain from admiring the view of what shifts beneath those grey tights. The bastard might have a terrible attitude, but he has a damn fine ass.

 

 

________________________

 

 

 

Flinging the door open, Hux stalks into the restroom and turns the faucet on full force, pulling a wad of paper towels from the dispenser near the mirrors. Of all the people to witness the inconvenience of his illness, it had to be _him._

That barbaric bastard and his overgrown knives, his agonizing, slow-moving stances. Those black and white tattoos that cover his shoulder and most of one arm. That very naked and very defined chest. Hux sucks in a breath.

_Disgusting._

The pale starkness of his reflection greets him and pushes away a lank lock of red hair from one eye. Rest was not on the agenda for him. Not today. Not with a performance looming and one exceedingly demanding part asserting itself in his mind on a near-constant basis.

The height of his leaps needed work. The precision of his body was not exact enough. The lean conformity of his limbs not as graceful as he would like.  But more than anything, he wanted privacy. Needed it. With no other dancers to witness whatever mistakes he might make, his performance could be improved without the ever-watchful eyes of subversive competition.

And they are always watching. Waiting for a mistake. Looking for a misstep. Like vultures looming to pick the carcass of a fallen animal, should he falter or fail. His hands grip the edges of the sink.

Insufferable, pretentious climbers. All of them.

He takes a moment to splash a bit of water over his flushed cheeks, to run a damp hand through his sweat-soaked hair, the over-sized shirt that drapes his upper body sliding off one shoulder. Without _him_ here, he might not have bothered with the shirt at this point, but the last thing he wanted was unwarranted attention. Especially not from the martial artist.

Gods, whose idea had it been to share the studio with these sword-slinging ingrates, anyway? Surely management could have found a better way to be "charitable" to the displaced dojo than opening its doors to these people. Especially when a performance was so close and Hux needed to concentrate. How could one be expected concentrate with the threat of being interrupted by pajama-wearing imbeciles who "might" want to practice in their temporarily shared space at any moment?

A wave of nausea sweeps him, sending a chill to prickle his sweat-dampened skin. He takes a shallow breath through his nose, exhales slowly through his mouth and wills his stomach into submission, demands that his traitorous body cease its subtle shaking. One more hour. Then, he can rest. For a while, at least.

He clamps a paper towel over his mouth, muffling a flurry of fittish, sharp sneezes into the scratchy material that is about as soothing as sandpaper and dry ice. However, it is better than risking that man hearing him. Hux can see it now, the subtle curve of his mouth, the smirk, the look of amusement, some manner of schadenfreude. He certainly would not put it past him.

Tossing the towel into the bin, he takes a moment to conduct a fastidious washing of his hands, drying them with a fresh paper towel and takes a step towards the door, his stance wavering. The bathroom was certainly in need of a severe remodeling, but had the floor always been uneven in this spot? He glances down, the shifting of the tiles an illusion that he forces into stillness, demanding that his vision right itself into normalcy.

And that is when he hears it. Guitar-driven riffs. Pounding bass. Ugly, ear-splitting vocals.

Had the imbecile actually believed that he would leave the rehearsal space to him so that he could taint it with the vileness of heavy metal?

Hux charges down the hallway, stopping short when the bastard himself appears in the hallway, ambling towards him with casual audacity.

_The utter nerve . . . !_

"Now, see here!" Hux barks. "You cannot simply begin playing that . . . that _noise_ and expect that I will endure it!" He steps closer to the brute of a man, asserts his smaller stature without fear or intimidation, lifts his chin. "I haven't the patience for your nonsense."

Dark eyes regard him not with malice, but something foreign he cannot quite place, something he is unused to witnessing.

"You look like you're going to collapse," the man says.

Hux wrinkles his nose. Well, he certainly doesn't mince words, now does he?

"I'm fine!" he snaps. "My level of fitness is none of your concern."

"It's not your fitness," the dark-haired man says. "You just look like shit."

Hux draws himself up as tall as he can manage. "I beg your pardon."

"Beg whatever the hell you want," the other man says. "I've got kata to do."

The tingle in his sinuses threatens a new assault and Hux takes a step back, pressing knuckled fingers beneath his nose with a cringe. Neither his throat nor his chest are in the mood for it, nor is the subtle pounding that has begun just behind his temples.

"Fine," he says. "Go. Play with your sharp things. Do take care not to lose a finger."

"I never cut myself," the man says. "Only others."

"Hmph," Hux sneers, but the expression fades into abject desperation as he turns away, unable to prolong the short respite his body has given him.

He must get away from this man. Distance himself. He stifles a short fit of three sneezes and coughs into a curled fist, something he would never dream of doing had he been in a proper mental state, and grapples for the wall with one hand.

Another ragged cough. The throbbing within his head intensifies along with the burn in the center of his chest.

_Something isn't right. Something . . ._

He walks three steps before the edges of his vision begin to blacken and the distant sound of music becomes a hollow, consuming static within his ears.

 

 

_________________________

 

 

 

 

Kylo half-lunges forward, capturing the stricken redhead mere moments before he collapses onto the cold concrete. The man is a pliant drape of grace within Kylo's arms, as if his body cannot separate itself from his disciplined teachings even in a state of unconsciousness.

He brushes a hand across one pale cheek and nearly recoils. Burning with scalding heat. Of course he is.

"You dumb asshole," Kylo grunts as he hefts the fair-haired man into his arms.

Although the man is thin, he is lithely muscled, heavier than he looks, but still a sack of feathers to Kylo Ren, whose martial arts training has more than honed his ability to carry things that outweigh him. Or in this case, someone that equates to little more than a Backstreet Boy.

He carts the other man back through center of the studio, switching his grip long enough to retrieve his bag of weaponry and keys, half-draping the redhead over his shoulder as he slips on his shoes and exits the building through the back, the door locking in place behind him.

The distance to his apartment is a mere two-building space and he enters from the back stairwell, avoiding any potential interaction with nosy students or overly-talkative seniors as he makes the 5-story climb with relative ease and no human contact.

Half-elbowing the door open, he carries the still-unconscious man to the couch, depositing him amongst the battered cushions with as much care as he can manage before dropping his weaponry to the floor.

"Hey." He kneels beside the other man. Touches his face. Shakes his shoulder. "Look, don't you die here on my couch. I can't fit you in my freezer."

A mumble. Fingers swatting away his touch, a weak attempt, but an effort nonetheless.

"You're not dead yet? Good."

The thin material of the man's oversized shirt clings to his slender form, drenched in sweat and cold to the touch. Kylo pulls at the damp fabric and frowns. Well, he can't very well let the bastard lie there and freeze to death in a pool of his own sweat, can he? Although, given his attitude, the thought had been somewhat appealing at the start.

He retreats into his bedroom, paws through his dresser, and pulls the top to a pair of black fleece pajamas from the drawer. The buttons are large and easy to manipulate, although Kylo rarely bothers with the top. Getting tangled in his own clothing in the middle of the night is as unpleasant as it is ridiculous. Why bother with any clothing in the first place?

The man has not moved from the couch, does not so much as acknowledge Kylo's return, so he sets to work, peeling the damp fabric from the dancer's lithe frame and tossing it aside, dressing him anew in the black top which all but swallows his much smaller frame. Even when completely buttoned, it threatens to slide from one freckle-smattered shoulder.

The dancer's skin is the fairest shade of milky pale, a sharp contrast to the brilliant fire of his hair, even the fringe of his ginger eyelashes. In sleep, the man's expression is slacked from the severe disdain Kylo has so often encountered and into something soft, almost child-like, the lines of displeasure that etch his brow no longer visible, the pinkness of lips more readily apparent.

Too bad the attitude negated the appearance.

Kylo pulls the folded blanket from atop the couch, a plush horror of orange and blue that his mother brought back from some Aztec-themed gift shop, and drapes it over the other man's slight shoulders, tucking it around his body. Fingers clasp his own and Kylo stiffens at the sudden intrusion, but the hand slides away, secures itself somewhere beneath the thick blanket.

He leaves the redhead nestled upon the tattered couch and retrieves his book from the coffee table, propping his bare feet upon the edge of the table. He reads the same sentence nine times before he sets the book down again, his mind drifting.

_Next week will be two years since ----_

Shaking his head, he rises from the chair and saunters into the kitchen. Scrubbing pans is preferable to thinking about such things and besides, maybe the noise will rouse his companion.

The bastard has to wake up some time.

 

* * *

 

 

Check out this AWESOME art of Ballet!Hux by my super-amazing enabler, [Jeusus.](http://jeusus.tumblr.com/)

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux awakens to find himself in strange surroundings with an even stranger man and struggles to recall the events of the afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAHH!! The response to this fic has been so overwhelming, I suddenly couldn't stop writing it! And all of the ART I have received?? Oh gods, YOU GUYS. I don't know what to do with myself?!?! This has never happened to me before and I'm just freakishly overjoyed. LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO. And yes, Kylo is total smart ass with that "misery" line. It's not a typo. Heh.

The sound of running water. The soft clink of ceramic and metal. The swishing of liquid in a glass.

His eyes flutter open, bleary and unfocused. A blanket that is not his own drapes his shoulders, his body stretched upon an unfamiliar couch. Clutched between his fingers is a bundle of tissues that he cannot remember having grabbed, but is suddenly grateful for when his sinuses see fit to remind him of his current state of misery with a sharp, wracking fit of sneezes that he barely manages to muffle within the confines of the white squares.

He eases himself onto his back with a groan and stares at the ceiling, willing himself to sit up but unable to command his body to do so. He squints at the fading mint green that has been haphazardly slapped upon the space above him and manages a frown.

 _Ugh, how horrid._ And cracked like some manner of frightening candy brittle, too.

"Drink this."

Hux tenses with a start, sliding his gaze to one side.

The barbaric, sword-wielding brute crouches beside him, his dark hair unbound and falling in soft waves that frame a face that is an odd mix of dashing and eccentric features. Shirtless. Broad-shouldered.

Hux groans aloud and hates himself for it.

Something cold nudges his hand. "Drink."

"Trying to poison me to finish the job?" Hux says, the croaking rasp of his own voice a cringe-worthy sound.

"Sure, that's it." The man coaxes Hux's fingers around the glass. "Maybe it'll put you out of my misery."

"Hmn," Hux grunts. He struggles to sit up, gritting his teeth when the man assists him enough to shove a pillow behind his back to stabilize him.

After a moment's hesitation, he brings the glass to his lips for a tentative sip. The water is cold, crisp, and bracing against the parched heat of his tongue.  He manages nearly half the glass before pausing to take a breath.

"Thank you," he says, grateful but stiff in both tone and demeanor. He side-eyes the other man as he takes another sip.  "I . . . do not remember coming to this place with you."

"You didn't," the man says. "You passed out. I brought you here."

"I lost consciousness?" Hux sits up a bit straighter, struggling to recall the events of the day and failing. Is he so unwell that not only his body but also his memory has begun to fail him?

"You've got a pretty high fever," the other man says. "What the hell were doing practicing like that, anyway?"

Hux's eyes narrow. "That's none of your concern."

The man sits upon the edge of the coffee table, elbows resting on his thighs, hands clasped. "I could have left you there, you know."

"Most would have," Hux grumbles. He takes another long swallow of the water and empties the glass. One finger toys with the edge of the still-damp rim, his gaze upon his lap. "I . . . appreciate your kindness."

The man shrugs one shoulder. "Can't leave a body in the middle of the hall. Someone might trip." He flicks his gaze to meet Hux's own. "Even if you were an asshole."

Hux tenses, but does not argue with the assessment. After all, it is a correct one.

"So." The man points to the glass and holds out a prompting hand. "You got a name, asshole?"

Hux sets the glass upon his palm with more force than necessary and feigns displeasure to cover the smile that has no business threatening to suddenly quirk his lips. "Hux. Brendol Hux," he says. "And you are . . . ?"

"Kylo Ren," the man says. He rises to his feet, glass in hand. "You want some more water, Brendol Hux?"

He wants to say "yes," wants to lie upon the couch and simply exist elsewhere without the thought of the performance, without having to explain yet again to his brain just why he has been chosen not for the lead, but for something grander. Harder. A part only a more experienced dancer can handle.

"I should go," he says.

"Maybe," Kylo, as he calls himself, agrees. "But do you really want to walk home in that?" He nods toward the window where a sheeting monstrosity of rain has begun, slanting moisture against the glass pane.

 _How very grand._ Hux folds his arms and regards the window with a dispassionate stare, tries to conjure a reason to argue with the man, and finds that he does not have the stamina for it.

"And your boots are still at the studio," Kylo says. The corners of his mouth curl into a sort of smirk and he chuckles. "Nice choice, by the way."

Hux shoots him a glare. "As if _you_ would understand."

Although, the man does have a point. The black Uggs have zero fashion appeal, but the comfort level after hours of endless rehearsal exceeds the appearance.

"Whatever." Kylo says with another shrug.

He watches as Kylo pads into the kitchen and takes a plastic pitcher from the middle shelf, refilling the glass nearly to the brim before returning. The kitchen and living room are open concept, or rather in this case, "economy student." Little more than 20 feet of space separate the two, the hallway far too close, probably housing only the bedroom and the bathroom nearby.

Not to mention the battered and mismatched furniture and well, _everything._ Dark brown couch patched in odd places with grey fabric, steel end table, coffee table made of a questionable wood-like product, horrid, over-stuffed lime green chair residing in the corner. And then, there is the matter of curtains patterned with such colorful geometric randomness, Hux wonders if perhaps Kylo pilfered them from the local casino.

A hand nudges his shoulder and Hux startles with a short gasp. He has not so much as seen the man move from the kitchen, much less appear at his side.

"Didn't mean to scare you," Kylo says. He holds out the now full glass to Hux. "Here."

"Thank you," Hux manages.

Of all the times to fall ill with some manner of ridiculous cold, it had to be _now_ , in front of _this man_ , in this strange apartment, with unrelenting rain and sleet pounding the pavement. He muffles a cough into the crook of his elbow, the action seeming to drain what little energy he has mustered.

"I apologize for my . . . state of being," he says. "As soon as the rain relents, I will remove myself."

"No rush," Kylo says. He bends to collect the Aztec fright that has the nerve to call itself a blanket and drapes it over Hux's legs. "And you've probably got the flu."

The urge to argue rises swiftly within him, demanding that he insist that it is a simple cold and nothing more, but what would the point of such discourse prove? Especially not when the man who calls himself "Kylo Ren" is, once again, irritatingly correct.

A muffled rendition of a rock song Hux cannot place filters through the room and Kylo glances towards the bar near the sink.

"Sorry," he says. "Just a second."

Hux watches as he hurries to the other side of the room and fishes a well-used phone from beneath a pile of mail, swiping the screen to answer it.

"Hey," he says to the person on the other end of the line. "Hold on a minute."

Making his way back to Hux, he covers the business end of the phone with one hand before speaking. "I've got to take this. Might be a minute." He glances towards the window where the rain still beats itself against the glass and then back to Hux. "Do us both a favor. Don't be stupid."

The analysis of just how wet he might get should he try to slog through the weather comes to abrupt halt in Hux's head and he frowns, but says nothing as Kylo retreats into the hallway, the sound of a door clicking shut following his wake.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Kylo leans against the wood-paneled wall of his bedroom with a sigh, thumbing the "end call" button on the phone. The conversation has taken less than three minutes, but the silence between the words has been endless.

 _You can always come home,_ she'd said.

No. No, he can't.

He takes a deep breath through his nose. Exhales it slowly from his mouth. _In. Out. In. Out._ The tremor of his hands that he refuses to acknowledge begins to cease, the tension of his shoulders loosening to a manageable state.

The thought of the upcoming Sunday brings a swell of dread to his chest that hardens to lump within his throat. Leaving her alone is not the answer, but thought of seeing her is far worse.

It is cowardly. Dishonorable.

His fingers clench into a fist.

Ten minutes later, he emerges, mask of neutrality firmly in place, phone pocketed and switched off. No more disturbances on this day. He has endured his fill.

"Sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to take so . . ."

His words dwindle into silence. The dancer has given himself over to the whims of his exhaustion once more, one arm dangling from the couch, the tips of his pale fingers peeking from the too-long sleeve of Kylo's borrowed nightshirt. The now-empty glass rests atop the only coaster Kylo owns, sitting with precise placement in the center of the end table.

A smile curves his mouth, despite his best efforts to stop it. In his sleep, Brendol Hux is softer, almost innocent in appearance with his fair skin and brilliant shock of red hair askew at odd angles. He clutches the blanket to his chest with his free hand, as if he cannot wrap the material close enough, a faint sheen of sweat beading his brow.

It would seem that the fever is breaking. A good sign.

Kylo does not attempt to rouse him. Instead, he slips both arms beneath Hux's prone form and lifts him from the couch, carting both man and blanket into his bedroom where he deposits them onto his bed. It is the one thing in the apartment that is truly his, the framework an exotic scrolling of hand-carved dragons interwoven with flowers and vines, a gift from his mother who manages to find all manner of unique oddities on her adventures. Just how she had managed to drag the thing across the border was mystery, but given the nature of his father's "business," Kylo had learned at a very young age not to ask questions.

He arranges the sheets around the still-sleeping dancer, tucking them around his body and covering him with the thick comforter. Hux does not so much as stir, expression as slack as ever.

Kylo brushes a lock of damp hair from Hux's forehead and notes with some degree of amusement that the fringe of his eyelashes is a contrasting shade of ginger that coordinates with his hair. The combination is oddly charming.

After taking a moment to refill the glass of water yet again, Kylo sets it upon the small table beside his bed and retreats from the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 _Darkness._ The red face of a clock at his side. A tangle of sheets that are not his own.

Panic clamors for control of his being, but Hux stifles the anxiety, forcing the muddled confusion of his brain to process the unconscious turn of events.

A battered couch. A glass of water. And Kylo Ren.

Even through the haze of fever, he remembers.

_Blast it all._

There is no lamp upon the bedside table, no source of light aside from the dull shine that filters from beneath the door. He flicks his stare to the clock.

_3:27 am._

Nearly 9 hours have passed and yet, he feels as if he could manage to sleep for 9 more.

The parched burn of fever has left his throat dry and painful and his groping hand touches the familiar shape of a glass, a glass that he remembers drinking from at some point during the night. Somehow. He grasps it, brings it to his dry lips.

_Empty.  Of course it is._

Hux flops back against the sheets with a groan, willing his body to lie still and resume its slumber, but his thirst exceeds his need for sleep. Untangling himself from the sheets proves to more of an ordeal than he has the energy for, but he manages, rising to unsteady legs beside the bed. Darkness cloaks the room, but the faint glow of the light from the hallway illuminates his path enough for him to navigate the unfamiliar and find the door.

Glass in hand, he pads across the ancient carpet on hesitant feet, passing the couch where Kylo sleeps like some hulking beast, his breathing heavy and even. Hux halts for a moment before reducing his steps to an almost comical creep, so as not to wake him, as the man is a slumbering dragon whose awakening will bring severe and swift consequences.

He makes it to the kitchen without incident and helps himself to the pitcher of cold water within the fridge, downing nearly an entire glassful before pouring a second to take with him back into the bedroom. Outside, the rain/sleet combination continues, unrelenting and stronger than ever. There will be no walking the seven blocks back to his own apartment. Not in this. Impatience surges within him, but logic dismisses it. There is little he can do change his circumstances, however bizarre they might be.

From the couch comes a mumble and Hux freezes mid-step. Has the sound of the refrigerator door aroused his host? He cranes his neck, takes a few steps and pauses. Kylo's mumbling rises to a more urgent pitch, his words a garbled tangle of sounds that do not form logical thoughts. A leg shifts upon the couch. One shoulder shrugs and twitches. It is not until he hears the whimpering rendition of a moan that Hux realizes what is transpiring.

The man is having a nightmare. A vocal one.

Setting the glass upon the end table near the couch, Hux steps closer, reaches a hand towards Kylo's shoulder, curls his fingers back in an uncertain waver, and kneels beside the edge of the furniture.

"Hey," he says. Softly at first. A quiet rasp of sound. When the other man does not awaken, he lays a hand upon his forearm. "Ren," he tries again.

" . . . too much slack . . ." Kylo mumbles in his sleep. "have to pull. . ."

A shuddering breath. Another uncomfortable moan. Hux arches an eyebrow.

He slides his hand down the forearm, clasps his wrist and give it a tug. "Kylo," he says.

The hand clamps over his own, locking his wrist into place and Hux struggles to pull away as Kylo startles into abrupt consciousness, his breathing labored, eyes wide.

"What . . ." he mumbles thickly. Runs a hand through his hair. Stares at Hux in confusion. Drops his hand as if it might burn him. "Why are you out of bed?"

"Why am I out of----" Hux huffs a sigh, rubbing at his wrist. "I was thirsty and you were having some manner of unpleasant dream, from the sound of it."

A slow blink. The tentative wetting of lips. A look that is both acknowledgement and defeat.

"Oh." The word is a flat, toneless chime in the dark. "Well, I'm fine. So, go back to bed." He glances at Hux's wrist. "Sorry I grabbed you. Reflex."

But Kylo's expression is haunted. Lost. As if his mind it not in the present, but somewhere far away, perhaps in the horrors of the past or the fear of the future. It is a familiar look, one that Hux himself has worn. One that he recognizes.

"Why don't you . . ." he pauses. Pretends to cough into the sleeve of his borrowed nightshirt. "Your bed is far more than I need. Perhaps you could . . ."

The fake cough morphs into a real one and a shudder traverses his shoulders, the aching chill of fever a reminder that standing for more than a few minutes is an endeavor far more taxing than his body will allow.

Kylo tosses the unsightly afghan aside and sits up, hands grasping Hux's shoulders.

"Alright," he says. "Back to bed with you. Now."

"I can manage on my own," Hux says with a bit more annoyance than he means, rising to his feet with far too much effort.

A hand grasps his upper arm. "Sure you can. Come on."

It is with only mild indignation that he allows himself to be escorted back to the bedroom, into the dark cavern that is Kylo's sleeping quarters. Just how the man can see in such conditions is a mystery, but Kylo's steps are sure and swift . . . and strangely without a whisper of sound.

Hux allows himself to be guided to the edge of the bed and slides beneath the covers, pulling the blankets to his chin and willing the fevered tremble that has begun within him to cease. His body will have none of it, betraying his every weakness to this man, this stranger, who watches him far more closely than is necessary, as if assessing his movements for some sort of nuance that will guide his actions.

"Do you want me to turn up the heat?" Kylo asks.

"No." Against his better judgment, Hux grasps Kylo's wrist, stilling the other man's movements. "Perhaps you should . . . stay."

He cannot see Kylo's eyebrow raise, but he is certain it is there. "With you?"

"Well," Hux huffs. "It is _your_ bed."

"Hmn," Kylo muses. "Didn't think you'd want to share a bed with some stranger."

_Well it certainly wouldn't be the first time . . ._

"I believe I shall survive the ordeal," Hux says. "Now, enough talking. I would very much like to go back to sleep, if you would kindly just do as I say."

"Bossy, aren't you?" Kylo says.

"Tired," Hux corrects him. He motions to opposite side of the bed and to his relief, the man concedes, climbing onto the mattress and claiming polite space beside him. That is until Hux's wretched sinuses betray him with a short, sharp fit of several sneezes which he only manages to half-muffle against his curled fingers.

"You okay over there?" Kylo asks.

The faintest hint of amusement tinges his voice and Hux frowns.

 _"Fine,"_ he grunts. "No reason for alarm or chuckling. I always sneeze in this absurd manner, sick or not."

"Yeah?" A hand brushes his shoulder and Hux resists the urge to stiffen. "It's kind of cute."

_Oh, good gods._

"Not the terminology I would use," Hux says.

He draws the blankets up past his shoulders and cinches them tight around his body. Even through the haze of congestion and fever, the scent of his companion clings to the material, a dark, subtle spice that is both heady and distinct. And made worse by the man beside him.

The hand upon his shoulder lingers and Hux considers shrugging it away until the fingers tighten upon him with the faintest hint of pressure.

"You're shivering." Kylo's deep voice near his ear, much closer than before.

"It will pass," Hux mumbles.

The hand slips from his shoulder, drapes his side, and the press of the other man's body conforms to his back, drawing him closer.

"Don't argue with me," Kylo says.

The heat of his breath brushes Hux's ear and a shiver of a different nature marches down his spine. A hand splays his chest, the warmth of Kylo's palm a comforting counterpoint to his fever-induced skin sensitivity, the heat of his body a buffer between the chill and the seemingly useless blankets.

A faint hint of a sigh escapes him and he leans into the other man's embrace, this stranger who has seen fit to threaten him, argue with him, and then rescue him from the mercy of his own body all within the same hour of one afternoon.

Gradually, the fine tremor of his limbs begins to cease, the tension of his body draining into a heavy pliancy. The man is a furnace, yet the heat of his body is neither overwhelming or stifling. Instead, he finds it lulling, a comfort of sorts.

His fingers skim the top of Kylo's hand before he drifts into a dreamless slumber.

 

* * *

 


	3. Chapter 3

Weak strands of daylight filter through the faded curtains, splaying fingers of dawn over Hux's outstretched arm. One eye flutters open and the dancer stifles a groan into the nearest pillow.

_Gods, what time is it?_

He pushes himself into a half-sitting position and rubs at his eyes, shoving back the cuff of a sleeve too long for his arm. And blinks.

Not his clothing. Not his sheets. Not his bed.

Panic settles over him and he wills himself to take a steadying breath, his mind an incongruent whir of thoughts and images.

_The studio. The martial artist. What had he called himself?_

Hux purses his lips with a frown.

 _Kylo Ren._ Ah, yes.

And if he was remembering correctly, he had fallen asleep within the arms of this stranger, a man who is no longer in the bed beside him. The absurd notion that the bedroom door would now be locked filters through his mind and Hux pushes the sheets aside, swings his legs over the edge of the bed, and is stopped short by the whims of his own body. Dizziness renders his ability to stand useless and for a moment, he fights to remain upright.

The fever. He had forgotten about it. How utterly inconvenient.

After several deep breaths, he tries again, slowly this time, padding across the archaic brown carpet to grasp the doorknob, which turns easily within his grasp.

Of course it does.

Hux chuckles to himself at his own absurdity and makes his way across the hall and into the living room. Upon the coffee table is a black bag, emblazoned with the dance studio's name, a set of keys, and an unfortunately familiar pair of black, fleece-lined boots.

Familiar things. His things.

The dancer runs a hand through his unkempt hair and finds it dampened with sweat.

_Charming._

From the opposite end of the hallway, the sound of running water stops, a sound he had not so much as registered until silence took its place. He makes his way over to the couch and unzips the bag. Everything is present and accounted for, including his terrible fleece jacket, which serves only to cover his dancing attire on the walk from his home to the studio. It had been a gift from his rather insistent mother, who contended that Hux would most certainly fall ill if he went traipsing down the street in sweaty clothes after grueling rehearsal, no matter how often he saw fit to remind here that germs, not temperature fluctuations, were the problem.

If she saw him now, she would take it as proof to the contrary.

Of course, Hux is more than certain of just how this particular flu had managed to befall him. His understudy had been stricken with such nonsense several days before and had been practically run out of the company, lest he contaminate everyone there.

Before Hux knew of his ailment, the fact that the other man had been more than willing to fetch him a bottle of water had seemed kind. Now, a different motive rises to the surface.

The corner of Hux's lip lifts in a sneer. Well, the best revenge was simply to see to it than the conniving little coward never got his chance in the spotlight by being there himself. Flu or no flu.

"You're awake."

Hux freezes. That voice. Dark, quiet, without tonal fluctuation. Yes, it has come to be familiar in quite a short time.

He glances up from pawing through his bag. "Yes, well . . . give me a moment and I will extricate myself."

The man's damp hair curls in dark waves that brush his shoulders . . . shoulders that are uncomfortably bare, as is the top half of his body. Gods, did the man ever so much as consider wearing a shirt?

"Still raining," Kylo says.

"What?" Hux shoots a glare at the window, confirming Kylo's assertion with dismay. "But I could have sworn . . . "

"The sun was out for about 2 hours," Kylo said. "You slept through it."

"Why did you not awaken me, then?" Hux asks irrationally. He pauses, pinches the bridge of his nose, and turns from the other man with a hitching gasp of breath that results in a fit of short, quick sneezes, the last of which traverses his shoulders with a shudder.

"That was about seven good reasons right there," Kylo says.

"Surely you didn't count," Hux grunts.

"Except that I did," Kylo says.

Hux casts him a withering look. "Marvelous."

Kylo walks by a small table near the window and procures the box of tissues there, walking back to present them to Hux without ceremony. "Here."

The dancer does not argue, but rather accepts the offer with a stiff, "thank you."

Plucking a square of white from the box, he takes a moment to dab beneath his nose with a sniffle before flicking his gaze to Kylo. "I apologize for invading your space with not only my presence, but my illness as well. Rest assured that I will leave as soon as this weather allows it."

Kylo shrugs a shoulder. "It's fine. But listen, I need a green tea fix." He slides his gaze to Hux. "You drink tea?"

"I do," Hux says. "But you needn't trouble yourself."

"No trouble," Kylo says. "You're overly concerned about everything, aren't you?"

Hux clenches his jaw. "Not _everything_."

"Hmmn. Right." The corner of Kylo's lip curves into a smirking smile.

Rather than further refute Kylo's yet-again astute observation of his character, Hux settles himself against the couch, allowing his eyes to drift shut for a moment. The simple act of walking from the bedroom to the living room has been far too taxing. How is he supposed to rehearse in such a condition, much less perform? The thought of Derek gleefully prancing about in his place, even as placeholder for a rehearsal rankles his demeanor into a state of scowling displeasure.

 _Traitorous little snake._ Well, two could play at such things, now couldn't they?  And he wouldn't so much as consider Thannison's terrible delight over such a thing.

Something nudges his shoulder and Hux's eyes spring open.

Kylo stands beside him, a steaming mug of tea in one hand.

"Here," he says.

Hux accepts the tea without further complaint, the warmth of the ceramic seeping into his chilled palms as he wraps his hands around the cup.

"Thank you," he says again. "Very kind of you." He sips the hot liquid with a careful tipping of the mug before eyeing his companion over the edge. "I . . . still do not understand why you have been as such to me."

Again with the shrugging of the shoulder. "You needed help. I was there."

As if it were that simple. That obvious. Hux resists the urge to frown for a reason he does not understand.

"What?" Kylo asks. "A real foreign concept to you or something?"

"In my line of work, yes," Hux says with a bit more bitterness than he intends.

Kylo sits back in his chair, takes a swallow of his own tea and sets the mug on the end table. "That brutal, huh? I've studied arts like that." He runs a hand through his hair, which has begun to dry into soft waves that frame his face. "People can do some pretty awful shit when they want to win."

Hux grunts. "Tell me about it."

Glass shards in shoes, careless tripping hazards upon the floor, an "accidental" dropping of partner. And apparently, the purposeful passing of an illness.

The other man's brow knits and relaxes, as if he has suddenly put together the missing pieces of an unseen puzzle, but he says nothing, continuing to sip his tea, his gaze upon the steadily falling rain outside of the window. Silence stretches between them, not the awkwardness of two strangers who have nothing to say to each other, but rather an almost comfortable understanding of personal space. Hux finishes the remainder of the tea and sets the mug aside, the heavy fabric of the borrowed nightshirt slipping from his shoulder as he leans back against the couch.

The curtains flutter as the heater turns on and Hux eyes the material.

"A rather . . . interesting choice for decor," he says.

From his position in the chair, Kylo follows his gaze. "Not mine," he says. "None of it is."

A strange wave of relief washes over Hux at the admission. "You mean to tell me you did not decorate this place on your own accord?" He feigns astonishment before casting the other man a smirk. "How very disappointing."

"I'm lucky, I guess," Kylo says. He returns the look with a crooked smile of his own. "My taste is much worse than this."

Hux sniffs. "Surely such a thing isn't possible."

Kylo chuckles as he rises to his feet, collecting the mugs. "I'll get you the _other_ Aztec blanket," he says. "The pink and orange one."

"Good lord, you have more than one?" Hux glances up at him. "However did you manage to find two equally horrible blankets?"

"I have a very particular set of skills," Kylo says.

Hux wrinkles his nose. "Please stop."

But as Kylo turns corner to disappear into the hallway, the dancer cracks a smile.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He is still here. Not that Kylo expected his "guest" to go traipsing home in the middle of the night in the rain---

_Well, then again. . . ._

The dancer's discomfort over the situation is only just beginning to wane. Kylo can't blame him for a hell of a lot apprehension, though. Waking up in a strange place with a strange person while riddled with fever must have been an ordeal, even for someone who seems pretty damn sure that he can tend to his own needs despite passing out in the corridor of a dance studio.

His body, however, has other ideas. While Kylo is no doctor, he knows the flu when he sees it. Pulling the aforementioned blanket from the closet in the hallway, he returns to where Hux is curled upon his couch, one leg draw close to his body, an arm draping it. Hux's posture is oddly elegant in its repose, his spine straight, hints of muscle easily visible beneath those gray tights. Even the simple act of sitting is somehow graceful, as if he knows of no other way to be.

"I cannot remember seeing so much rain," Hux says, his gaze upon the window.

"Yeah, it's pretty bad out there." Kylo presents the bundle of cringe-worthy fabric to the other man with a flourish. "For you."

Hux's stare slides to where Kylo stands and he recoils with a sneer. "Oh gods," he says. "You truly did not jest."

"Did you think I would?" Kylo waggles the blanket at him and Hux grasps one fire orange corner with a ginger grip. "I don't know, the lime green sets off the hot pink pretty nicely, don't you think."

"I am going to be ill," Hux says.

Kylo shrugs a shoulder. "Just aim for the blanket. Not like you could tell."

Hux disguises a chuckle with a well-timed cough and Kylo smirks. What started as one hell of a weird experience the day before was slowly morphing into something more like normal conversation. Even a bit of teasing.

Well, damn.

"Listen," Kylo beings. "I--"

But the dancer has relinquished the corner of the blanket in favor of clamping the tissue over his mouth and nose to muffle another fit of sneezes that seem to come far too quickly for the man to draw proper breath between them. He holds up a hand in a halting gesture, as if to keep Kylo at a distance until the sneezing relents, a soft, barely audible sigh of a groan escaping him.

"Excuse me," Hux says, as if he is exasperated. And exhausted.

Unfolding the blanket, Kylo drapes it over Hux's shoulders, cinching it closed so that other man can hold it there with one hand.

"Bless you," Kylo says. He arches an eyebrow. "But you only get one."

"Oh good lord," Hux groans. "I do hope you do not quit your day job to become a comedian."

Kylo settles himself back in the overstuffed lime green chair, bare feet propped upon the coffee table, as Hux arranges the blanket so that he is swaddled in a patchwork of undignified coloration. The bright coppery hair atop his head is the crowning glory of the entire event and it is Kylo's turn to pretend the subtle shaking of his shoulders isn't mocking laughter. Even though it is.

"Well," Hux says, eyeing the blanket. "It _is_ quite awful to look at, but very warm."

"It is that," Kylo agrees.

He watches as the other man attempts to draw himself into a proper sitting posture, but acquiesces to the softness of the couch, as if his body cannot manage the facade any longer. Daily observation had shown him that Hux walks to and from the studio. Each and every day, Kylo has seen him, marching into the building ahead of his colleagues, waiting with disdainful impatience for the Aikido class to finish so that he might begin his regiment of leaps and turns. Like he doesn't want anyone watching, least of all a pack of strangers.

While the other dancers in the company are not particularly welcoming, Hux had made his irritation with the arrangements excruciatingly clear. The man never speaks, never so much as bothers to do anything other than exude an affront of cold displeasure.

_But now . . ._

Curled upon Kylo's couch with the patchwork of sunset and green horror clutched about his shoulders, Hux's snobbery has dissolved. If anything, he looks somehow lost, almost childlike, nothing like the uptight asshole Kylo had come to avoid.

Kylo tents his fingers, tapping their tips together. Well. Isn't this some shit? Of all the things he expected to happen to him on a rainy Monday morning, carting an overheated, feverish rival to his apartment had not been anywhere on the list, nor had he expected said-rival to still be curled upon his couch, fighting the urge to doze off.

"You feel pretty awful, huh." Kylo says.

Hux does not bother to open his eyes. "Dreadful."

"Hmmn." Kylo rises to his feet, sits on the coffee table in front of his stricken companion. "I think I can help you."

"Can you?" Hux half-covers his face to shield Kylo from a short spate of coughing. "Unless you've a miracle cure that can dispel my fever, I have my doubts."

"Something like that," Kylo says. "But I'll have to touch your shoulders."

Green eyes regard him over the edge of the blanket with a dubious stare. "Are you quite certain you wish to touch me in this state?"

"I can wash my hands," Kylo says. He tips his head to one side. "So?"

Hux hesitates for a moment before struggling into a sitting position, allowing the blanket to slide from his shoulders. "Alright," he says. "Do whatever it is you are inclined to do, but do not be surprised if it does not work."

"Such an optimist," Kylo remarks.

"Realist," Hux corrects him.

_Yeah, right._

"Whatever." Kylo slides onto the couch beside him and faces him, hands resting upon his shoulders. "I'm going to feel for the top of your shoulder blade under your shirt. Don't freak out."

"I am not 'freaking out,' " Hux informs him in a clipped tone that almost makes Kylo chuckle.

He curls his fingers, reaches for Hux's slender shoulders, and walks the tips of his fingers down until they meet the point he seeks, the fair skin hot to the touch.

"Deep breath," Kylo instructs.

Hux complies without argument and Kylo sinks his fingers into the points just above the shoulder blades with firm, pointed pressure, using his free hand to hold the tips in place.

"Breathe out," he says. "Relax."

"I _am_ relaxed," Hux says through gritted teeth.

"You're not." Kylo releases his grip. "Again. Breathe in."

Beneath the pressure of his fingers, tension begins to unravel, the breath trickling out of the other man with a slow, almost vocal sigh. He switches sides, resetting his grip.

"In," Kylo says.

Another deep breath.

"Out."

A sighing release.

Gradually, Kylo's fingers press deeper, harder until the faintest beading of sweat forms atop Hux's brow. It is only then that Kylo's hands retract to rest upon his thighs, waiting as the other man's eyes flutter open with a hazy, heavy-lidded gaze.

"What did you do to me?" Hux murmurs.

"Acupressure," Kylo says. "Those points regulate body temperature and release tension in the shoulders. Feel a little better?"

Hux nods. "A bit, yes." He glances toward the clock upon Kylo's wall and runs a hand through is hair with a groan. "I must find a way to remove myself from this couch, rain or not. Millicent has been without food for far too long."

"Millicent?" Kylo repeats.

"My cat," Hux says.

A pet. Not a person. Kylo gives himself a mental eye roll and reigns his thoughts into place. How had his mind so much as even wandered in that direction, much less dared to step onto the path. Fucking Christ.

He casts a gaze over his shoulder at the still-slanting rain and back to the dancer, who has tugged the blanket around his body once more.

"As soon as this lets up a little, I'll drive you home," Kylo says.

Hux blinks. " _You_ . . . will?"

"Yeah," Kylo says. "My car is in the parking lot on the other side of building. We just have to walk there."

"Are you certain?" Hux says. "I do not live far and I feel quite sure than I can manage--"

"Bullshit," Kylo says. "And I wouldn't offer if it was a big deal."

Damn, and Kylo thought _he_ had trouble accepting help. This guy makes it look like easy consent on his part.

Hux purses his lips, narrows his eyes, sighs through his nose. Sort of. "Alright," he says at last. "But we leave as soon as the rain begins to slacken."

The nightshirt has fallen to reveal a hint of one freckled shoulder, the blanket haphazardly curled around his body, one hand still clasping a tissue, hair in a state of messy disarray.

Kylo rises from the couch, resists the urge to pull the clothing back into place, to brush away the wayward strands of hair.

"Might as well rest there until it does," he says.

But the dancer has already begun to close his eyes.

Kylo grunts, sauntering to the other side of the couch on his way to the kitchen. But he pauses to tug the blanket over Hux's upper body just the same.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was not how this chapter was supposed to go. Not at ALL. Hux was supposed to get up early in the morning and leave without a word, despite all the rain and fuckery. But these characters are smarter than me.
> 
> Damn good thing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo meets Millicent and Hux struggles to understand the art of kindness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's art! THERE IS ART! Check out [Sugar's art](http://sugardarkart.tumblr.com/) of miserable Hux that inspired much of this part. 
> 
> AO3 is being a jerk about insertion (looool . . . .), so links are at the top of the fic update!

Art that inspired this bit!  

[HERE](http://i.imgur.com/cKflodm.jpg?1) and [HERE](http://i.imgur.com/CQhJiNz.jpg) and [HERE](http://i.imgur.com/Y5eWwGf.jpg?1) and also [HERE!](http://i.imgur.com/LQ09jJX.jpg?1)

 

* * *

 

 

The rain is an unrelenting force that manages to half-drench them both despite Kylo's use of an umbrella. His companion's shivering negates his insistence that he is "fine," but Kylo says nothing, offering as little aid as possible so that the ginger idiot feels like he's doing the work himself. Only he isn't.

Kylo's arm half-drapes his waist, steadying his balance with a nudge here and there, giving the appearance of stability. It isn't until Hux's shaking hands are unable to properly insert the key into the deadbolt that Kylo takes a bit more control.

Plucking the keys from between the other man's fingers, Kylo makes short work of the lock and pushes the door open, standing aside as Hux crosses the threshold. He stands with one hipped cocked, a hand resting upon it as if he is waiting for something and Kylo tilts his head in response.

"Well . . . " the dancer says. "Come inside and dry off, then. Can't have you catching a cold or some such nonsense." He huffs a short sigh and runs a hand through his still-ruffled hair. "Good lord, I sound like my mother."

Kylo chuckles. "I'm fine to get a little wet. No big deal."

Hux's posture stiffens and he gestures to the battered umbrella with one hand. "Now, see here. I cannot send you back into that . . . that _downpour_ without any manner of cover. Come inside until it relents."

Kylo arches one eyebrow. "That fever reached your brain or something?"

"Hmn," Hux grunts. "I am questioning that myself." He holds the door open wider and points to the dripping mess of a mangled umbrella. "Leave that useless thing in the hallway where it belongs."

He sets the wind-broken umbrella against the nearest wall, a puddle forming before he can so much as step aside. After a slight moment of wondering just why Hux is inviting him into his apartment, he shrugs a shoulder and walks inside.

Glass coffee table with a stainless steel frame. Matching end tables. Stainless steel lamps with sleek, curved shades. Grey couch with matching chair. Neutral, non-descript carpet. Stainless steel appliances.

Everything is streamlined. Modern. Sterile.

Not lived-in _. Maintained._ Kylo resists the urge to wrinkle his nose.

"I was not expecting company," Hux says as he nudges the door shut. "Apologies for the mess."

Kylo glances around in a effort to figure out just what the hell this alleged "mess" might be. Was it, what, the open magazine on the coffee table? The folded blanket on the chair?

"Just . . . sit wherever you like," Hux says, gesturing with one hand. "I am in desperate need of a shower." He plucks at his wet sleeve with a look of distaste. "And this is not what I had in mind."

"Go ahead," Kylo says.

He watches as Hux disappears into the hallway, the sound of coughing echoing in his wake, as if he cannot bear to do such a thing in front of others. Maybe it's manners or maybe the guy is just really fucking stubborn. Kylo is betting on a combination of both.

Taking a seat upon the couch, he leans back against the firmness of the cushioned exterior. Hard as rock. More for looks than comfort. Why is he not surprised.

"Hmn," he muses to himself.

A tinkle of a bell sounds from somewhere near the kitchen and gains momentum as Kylo tosses a glance over the edge of the couch. Near the edge of the bar stands the aforementioned cat, legs socked in white fur, a pale ginger pattern of stripes across her back and framing her face.

The sight of someone other than her master gives her pause and she slows her gait, slinking towards the couch one delicate foot at time. She halts just shy of the couch's edge and stares, a gesture which Kylo returns for some time.

He breaks the staring contest with a blink and the cat leaps atop the back of the couch, feet a dainty snow white contrast to the grey material. Yellow eyes regard him with an unreadable assessment, striped tail curling around those white paws.

" . . .hey," Kylo says after a moment.

A slow, nondescript blink. The flick of an ear. A stretch of silence.

Kylo narrows his eyes. "Don't judge me."

The cat hops off the back of the couch with a jingle of tags and trots into the kitchen. A tiny, bell-like toll of a meow issues from somewhere near the counter, inquisitive at first and then rising to more of a demand. The cream and orange striped face appears around the edge of the bar. More meowing. As if he is somehow the densest mother fucker on the planet for not getting it.

Rising to his feet, Kylo stand next to the couch and holds out his hands. "What do you want from me, kid. I've got nothing for you."

Again with the look of not having time for his dumbass stupidity. The cat trills a command for him to follow and he obeys with a shrug of one shoulder, walking into the kitchen where the cat stands before a ceramic dish emboldened in prim, scripted letters upon the ceramic.

_Millicent._

Ah, yes. Now he remembers.

An insistent meow. A nudging of his calf.

"Look," he says. "I don't know where your food is."

More meowing. Twining between his legs. Yeah, not affection. Bribery.

With a sigh, he walks to a cabinet and opens it. Dishes. Another cabinet. Plastic containers, all stacked by size and with coordinating lids. Yet another reveals what looks suspiciously like crystal. Why the hell would Hux keep that in a cabinet, anyway? Wasn't that for display or some shit?

Millicent scampers to a door beside the stainless steel fridge and begins to circle, her tiny chime of a voice a more insistent version of itself.

"In here?" Kylo grasps the handle and turns it.

The contents are shockingly bare, void of any staples such as breakfast foods or canned goods. Well, save the rather impressive stack of cat food cans that take up an entire shelf. Red labels, silver labels. Organic. Wild-caught. Imported. Some other bullshit in a language he can't read.

Well, damn.

"Hmmn, let's see." Kylo rifles through the cans, selecting the one with shiny blue label and gold writing. "How about some pole-caught Alaskan salmon mix?"

The cat winds herself around his feet, nearly tripping him as he moves to shut the door.

"Okay, okay," Kylo says. "But if you break my neck, you'll have to wait for Hux, so take it down a notch."

Millicent hops onto the counter to sit as he picks up her dish, watching as he plucks a spoon from the nearest drawer and pops the lid on the can so that he can plop the contents into her bowl.

"This smells too good to be cat food," Kylo says.

Hux probably doesn't feed his cat on the counter, but Kylo doesn't care. The hungry feline is devouring the contents of the bowl before he can so much as consider setting it down and he lets her. If Hux has an issue, he can get over it.

Kylo takes a moment to run a hand over the striped back, smiling when the cat arches into his touch with a quiver of her white-tipped tail.

After tossing the can into the trash, he rinses the spoon off in the sink and sponges it clean, setting it within the confines of the wire rack to dry.

And speaking of drying . . .

A much more comfortably dressed Hux appears in the living room, loose, knit pants hanging dangerously low on his hips, a sweatshirt with the collar cut away exposing one freckled shoulder. Even through the fluid drape of fabric, the musculature Hux's thighs is a visible nuance Kylo does not miss. And one that he does not fail to admire when Hux's attention diverts to the counter.

"I fed your cat," Kylo says.

"You did?" Hux runs a hand through his damp hair. "Please tell me you did not give her the salmon."

Kylo does not so much as blink. "I gave her the salmon."

"Well, then," Hux says. "She will most certainly become your best friend." He watches as the cat leaps lightly to the ground and finds a comfortable spot to begin grooming herself. "It's imported. I rarely give it to her. It's a special occasion type of food."

"She was hungry," Kylo says. "A good an occasion as any for her."

"Yes, I am quite sure," Hux says.

He makes his way to the couch and drapes himself there like the foam bricks that call themselves furniture might actually be comfortable. Couches were supposed to be a respite from the day, not some sterile bench. Had Hux even so much as sat on that couch before he bought it, much less sprawled himself on it?

"And what about you?" Kylo asks at last.

Hux glances up from pinching the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger. "Hmm? What about me?"

"Aren't you hungry?" Kylo asks.

Hux makes a face. "No," he says. "I haven't any appetite at all."

Maybe not, but he should still eat. Kylo recalls the contents of the pantry, nearly bare save the impressive stock of cat food and a few cartons of chicken broth. Just what did the man eat, anyway?

Eyeing the steel fridge, Kylo takes a hesitant peek at the shelves within. Plastic containers, all stacked and labeled accordingly rest upon the middle shelf. Sliced, raw vegetables in three, a single cooked chicken breast in three more. And entire shelf dedicated to bottled water. A carton of eggs that looks suspiciously empty. A half-empty bag of leafy greens. One lone apple in the fruit drawer. No dairy. No starch. No flavor of any kind.

Kylo stares. Blinks twice.

"You picked at bad time to be sick," he says as he closes the door to the fridge.

"Tell me about it," Hux says. "Opening night is in less than two weeks and I haven't the time for this nonsense."

Well, Kylo had been referencing the fact that the man didn't have any decent groceries, but whatever.

"You need to eat something," Kylo says. He eyes Hux with a tilt of his head. "Don't you have anything warm?"

"Warm?" Hux wipes at his nose with a tissue he has procured from the box upon the end table and leans back against the couch. "No. Why would I bother?"

"Gee, I don't know, maybe because most people like their food that way?" Kylo says as he sifts through Hux's cabinet.

"Convenience is my preference," Hux says. "I haven't the time for---" His words trail into a desperate hitch of breath and he clamps the tissue over his mouth to muffle the resulting fit of sneezes, a gesture which earns him a look of disdain from the cat now perched near his shoulder. "For _cooking,_ " he finishes with a sniffle.

Millicent chitters in response and he runs a hand along the cat's spine. "Honestly, Millie. You have heard this from me before."

"Of course she has," Kylo says from the kitchen. He pauses to glance over his shoulder with a sly sort of smirk. "You sneeze like a kitten."

Hux frowns. "I most certainly do not."

"Yeah, you do," the other man says "And I guess it's chicken broth for you, then. Better than nothing, I guess."

"That isn't for me," Hux informs him. "It is for Millie's dry food to soften it."

"It's for you today," Kylo says. "Where are your pots?"

He waits for Hux to argue, prepares himself for some kind of retaliation, but the other man merely stares at him over the edge of modern-cut couch, eyes narrowed just a touch. Studying him. Weighing his motives.

"Third cabinet to the left of the stove," Hux says.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Hux eyes the other man from across the room with a strange sense of deja vu. Only hours ago, he sat stretched upon Kylo's couch in feverish disarray while the other man made him tea, arranged his blankets, and then performed some manner of acupressure sorcery upon his sinuses.

But why? What in the blazes prompted such a thing? Hux had been nothing but unfriendly if not downright surly to the other man during every past encounter and yet . . .

He rests his arms atop the back of the couch, chin upon his forearm as Kylo retrieves both the pan and the carton of broth and sets to work warming it whilst conducting a search of his cabinets.

"You have anything other than salt in this place?" Kylo asks.

Hux points a lazy finger towards the cabinet nearest to the microwave. "I believe there are some things in that one." He watches as Kylo takes several small containers off the shelf and begins to sprinkle dashes of it within the broth with a curiously expert hand. Interesting.

Several minutes pass, Kylo stirring the small pot upon the stove, Millicent kneading his thigh through the blanket he has draped in his lap, and the sound of Hux's quiet, albeit constant sniffling the only thing to break the oddly comfortable silence.

"Kylo."

The dark-haired man glances over his shoulder with a prompting arch of one eyebrow.

"Why are you . . . ." Hux runs a hand through his still-damp hair, words trailing into nothingness.

How to phrase this without sound like an ungrateful tart? _Hmmm._

"You are unnecessarily kind to me," Hux says at last. "Especially considering how I have spoken to you these past few weeks."

More stirring. A thoughtful pause.

"We've been over this." Kylo glances back to the pot and adjusts the temperature of the burner. "You needed help. I was there."

"So you have said," Hux muses. "I just . . . . " He sits back against the couch, the simple act of contemplation more difficult than he can manage. "Ah, never mind, then."

Perhaps he is over thinking this. What difference does it make? He watches as Kylo transfers some of the contents of the pot to a mug Hux often uses for large doses of tea and tops it off with a spoon before carting it back into the living room.

"Careful," he says. "It's hot."

As if Hux has no idea. But the dancer does not protest. Instead, he grasps the handle of the mug and sets it upon his knee to steady it before sampling a spoonful of the hot liquid.

Savory with a hint of garlic and the tiniest burst of black pepper. Far richer than any carton of broth should taste.

"Good lord," Hux says. "Whatever did you do to this?"

"Fixed it," Kylo says.

"Hmn." Hux forgoes the spoon and sips the broth directly from the mug. "I do not understand what method of cooking voodoo you employed to make this taste as it does."

"Cooking voodoo." Kylo chuckles. "It's just spices." He regards Hux with a tilt of his head. "You act like you've never used them before."

Hux takes another long drink. "I haven't much use for them, given the nature of my meals."

Most of which are pre-made and not by Hux himself. The chicken is from the deli around corner, the rice from a bag that takes 5 minutes to prepare. The vegetables are often eaten raw. Only the eggs are cooked on his own stove and even then, the result is mostly a hard-boiled specimen that hardly requires any sort of seasoning.

Convenience. Simplicity. Fuel. These are the things that he values, no matter how monotonous. They keep him lean, fit, muscular. In excellent shape, more so than many of his colleagues far younger than himself. His body is an obedient machine, a supple manipulation of joints and muscles dictated by a disciplined mind. He thinks of little else.

Dark eyes regard him with studious interest, as if his words are of a strange nature, one that Kylo is trying to piece together in his head. The man himself is a curiosity all his own, his features an odd mix of eccentric and dashing from the prominent angle of his nose to the fullness of his mouth. And of course, those eyes that look far too old belong to a face so obviously young. It is the gaze of a man who has seen more than he was meant to, that has born witness to things that change the very nature of a person's makeup.

"What is it?" Kylo asks.

Hux blinks as if breaking a trance. "Nothing," he says.

The other man glances towards the window. "Rain has slowed down." He flicks his gaze to Hux. "I should go."

"I --" Hux pauses. Wets his lips. "Alright."

As Kylo rises to his feet, Hux clasps the edge of his sleeve with this tips of his fingers. "Kylo . . . I . . . I would very much like to take you to dinner when I am well," he says. "To show my appreciation for your kindness. And if . . . you would like to accompany me, of course."

Several tense moments pass before the guarded lines of Kylo's features soften. "Okay," he says.

As if the decision is uncomplicated. Easy. Hux resists the urge to blow out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. How long had it been since he had volunteered himself as the initiator of any sort of "date?" And was this a "date" or no?

He resists the urge to shake his head to clear his thoughts and instead, offers the other man small, tired smile.

"Alright," he says. "I shall call you, I suppose?"

Things still worked in this fashion, did they not?

Kylo shrugs a shoulder. "Sure," he says. He extracts his phone from the pocket of his jeans. "Just tell me your number and I'll text you so you'll have mine."

Right. One didn't write down one's number any longer, did they? Hux recites the number to the other man, watching as he inputs the digits into his phone, types a short message, and slides the phone back into his pocket. A buzz from inside his studio bag confirms that the message has been received.

Kylo bends to scratch Millicent beneath the chin with a tickle of fingers and she trills a happy chirp.

"You're spoiled," he says.

"She certainly is that," Hux murmurs as the cat begins to knead his leg through the blanket with a contented flexing of white paws.

Kylo's hand lights upon his shoulder with the barest hint of squeeze and Hux commands himself not to startle. The man's hand is warm through the fabric of his sweatshirt, heavy and oddly reassuring. It retracts nearly as quickly as it has landed and Hux resists the urge to sigh.

"Take care, then," Kylo says.

Hux nods. "And you as well."

He watches as Kylo shows himself to the front door, pausing to glance over his shoulder with the barest hint of smile before vanishing into the hallway. Silence fills the room in his wake and Hux finds the he cannot sit upon the couch and do nothing, despite his body's demands that he do so.

The least he can manage is to pick up the things he has dropped upon the floor near the side of the couch. Retrieving his bag, he removes the contents and prepares to drop the sweat-stiffened clothing straight into the washing machine, pausing only to make certain his phone and ballet slippers do not go with it.

A green light blinks near the top of the phone, reminding him that he has unread messages and he scrolls through the list. One from his director, three from other dancers, two of which are from his wretched understudy . . . and one from a number he does recognize.

He taps the screen to open it, expecting that it will be something which announces Kylo's name, something such as, "Hi, it's Kylo" or simply "Kylo." But his mysterious caretaker has provided neither.

_Lie down._

Hux blinks at the screen. Did he really---?

"The nerve," he huffs. But he smiles just the same.

 

* * *

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not a date.

"So, what do you think about amping up the speed on Goshin Jitsu?"

Kylo glances to his friend with a thoughtful tilt of his head. "You think the judges care about that?"

"Hell yeah, they do."

Poe Dameron, the assistant instructor and kata partner for the better part of a year is far more concerned about the judges commentary than Kylo could ever be. He doesn't do it for the title or the medal. But Poe's enthusiasm is hard to ignore.

Kylo shrugs. "We can try it." He toys with a bit of spicy tuna on the edge of his plate with one chopstick. "But I throw hard. You know that."

"What, you think I can't take it?" Poe thumps his chest with one hand. "I'm tougher than I look."

"You're _shorter_ than you look," Kylo says with a smirk.

Poe points a chopstick at him. "Hey, fuck you, buddy."

Kylo chuckles as he slips the tuna into his mouth. Sushi is a luxury he does not indulge in often. Having friends with restaurant-owning parents sure has its perks.

They eat in silence for some time until the ring of Kylo's phone issues a muffled interruption from the pocket of his ripped jeans. For a moment, he considers ignoring the thing, but pulls it from his pocket just the same. It might be his mother, after all. And the weekend is approaching . . .

The name that flashes across the screen is one that is newly familiar and Kylo glances to his friend with an apologetic look.

"Sorry, I have to take this."

Poe waves a hand. "Whatever. But I'm eating all your tuna."

Kylo extends a slowly rising middle finger at the other man and thumbs the "answer" icon.

"Hey," he says into the receiver.

" . . . Kylo?"

The voice on the other end is a cultured uncertainty that makes him smile. Just for a moment.

"Yeah, it's me," he says.

"It's Brendol Hux," the voice says. As if Kylo has no idea.

"I know who it is. Didn't think you'd actually call," Kylo says. "How are you feeling, anyway?"

"Quite a bit better." A pause. What sounds like a slow, steadying breath. "I was . . . I was wondering if perhaps you might be free for that dinner tomorrow."

From across the table, Poe pauses in demolishing Kylo's share of the tuna and points to the phone, mouthing the words, "Who's that?"

Kylo holds up a finger in a halting gesture before continuing to speak.

"Yeah, tomorrow's good," Kylo says. "You want me to meet you somewhere?"

Another pause. "Well . . . what do you like?"

"Food," Kylo says.

A laugh disguised as a huff. "Obviously. You mean to tell me that you have no preference at all?"

"Not really," Kylo says. "Whatever you like is fine."

"Hmm . . . perhaps that odd little place near the park, then. What do they call it . . . "

"Parsley and Paisley," Kylo says.

"Yes. That's the one. Say, about seven, then?"

"Seven works," Kylo says.

"Alright." Hesitation. A stretch of silence. "I shall see you then."

"Sounds good," Kylo says.

He thumbs the "end" function and sets the phone face down on the table, glancing up to find Poe still holding the same piece of tuna he had reached for several minutes prior. Idiot.

"What?" Kylo says.

Poe leans forward, waggling his chopstick in Kylo's direction with a pointed gesture. "You got a date, pal?"

Kylo picks up his own chopsticks. "It's not a date."

_Was it? Nah._

"Sounded like a date," Poe says. "So, who's the poor bastard, huh?"

Kylo tosses a balled-up piece of his napkin in Poe's direction which nearly bounces into his water.. "No one you know."

"I hope not," Poe says. He tilts his head, pokes at Kylo's hand with the butt of his chopstick. "So, if it's not a date, why are you smiling?"

"I'm not smiling," Kylo says with as deadpan of a tone as he can manage.

"Yeah, bullshit." Poe helps himself to another tuna roll. "For you, this is smiling."

Kylo says nothing, choosing instead to continue helping his friend demolish the sizable plate of sushi until only three rolls are left. He pushes the plate towards Poe and sets his chopsticks on the side of his saucer, watching as the other man makes short work of the remaining food. For a guy on the shorter side of average, Poe can eat like hell.

"Thanks for dinner," Kylo says. "See, two people can eat without it being date."

"Whatever, man." Poe waves a hand before picking up his drink and taking a long sip. "I've got better taste than you anyway." He sets the glass down before fixing Kylo with a serious look. "But listen, buddy, if he turns out to be pain in the ass or something, just text me and I'll help you bail, okay?"

Kylo chuckles. "Pretty sure I can handle it."

"Yeah, yeah," Poe says. "Anyway, I gotta run. See at the studio in a bit. We've got that new guy coming today. What's his name . . . F . . .something?"

"Finn," Kylo says.

"He's not some kind of hot shot prick who thinks he's a big deal, is he?" Poe asks.

"No," Kylo says. "He's totally green. Never set foot on the mat before." This time, the smirk is more of a knowing smile. "But I think you'll like him."

 

* * *

 

 

"This way, sir. He is already waiting."

"He is?" Hux blinks as he unwinds the bright blue scarf from around his neck.

 _Ahead of him? Well, now_. He certainly would not have pegged Kylo for the punctual type. He follows the hostess past the art deco vases filled with silk flowers that could not exist in nature, past the vibrant oddities that decorate the walls, murals of floral nonsense that look as if someone has spent a good deal of time painting dreamscapes rather than pastoral scenery.

And there he is, clad in unrelieved black, a thin, tight-fitting sweater with a plain round collar and a pair of black pants that ---wait, are those _leather?_ Before Hux can further his assessment, Kylo rises to his feet to greet him and Hux's suspicions about the pants are confirmed to a near painful degree.

_Dear gods._

"Hey," Kylo says.

Hux tears his gaze away from those pants which are not only clingy, but slung dangerously low on the other man's hips. A tease of bare skin flashes a pale line between the sweater and the leather and Hux cannot permit himself even a casual glance.

"Good of you to come," Hux says at last.

What an utterly charming greeting. And what is next? An offer to shake Kylo's hand? Surely he has not forgotten how to properly interact with someone outside of his ballet circle.

One eyebrow arches with the barest hint of amusement and Hux orders himself not to sigh through his nose.

_Honestly._

"Well, then," he says. "Shall we eat something?"

As if they have come to such an establishment for something other than food. Great gods.

"How's the cat?" Kylo asks.

Hux glances up from his menu. "Millie?" Whatever had made the man ask such a question? "She's . . . she's quite well," Hux says. "Rather irritated that I did not commence to feeding her salmon every day, of course." He nudges Kylo's booted foot beneath the table. "That is entirely your fault, you realize."

Kylo shrugs a shoulder. "I just picked the nicest can."

"Well, she certainly played you like a violin," Hux says.

A trace of a smile curves one side of Kylo's mouth and Hux orders his fingers to refrain from tapping the table in a nervous rhythm. Instead, he sets the menu aside and sits back in his chair.

"And you?" Hux asks at last. "I'm afraid I haven't the faintest idea what you do outside of tossing sharp objects about."

Kylo chuckles, a low and warm sound that prickles the hair of Hux's neck to attention. "I work part-time for 8-Track Eddie's."

"That odd little music store?" Hux flexes the fingers of his hand before commanding himself to lay it upon his thigh. "You must tell me what Eddie himself is like, then."

The old biker with the braided beard, blue stripe in his graying hair, and far more tattoos than skin is known around town for his bright purple Harley Davidson with the custom made matching saddlebags that boast bright blue stitching that would rival his scarf. Go figure.

"Eddie?" Kylo rubs at his chin, expression softening to something akin to wistful amusement. "He's a force of nature with a ponytail."

Hux bites his lip, unable to suppress the chuckle that ebbs past his lips. "Is he, now?'

"Yeah," Kylo says. "He thinks it's still 1972. But you know, with electric blue hair dye."

"I rather fancy that blue streak of his," Hux says.

"He's got a matching one in his Billy Gibbons beard now," Kylo says. "Got some beads with the Harley logo braided into it, too."

"How very iconic of him," Hux says.

Kylo laughs, really laughs, and flashes him a smile, one that showcases the fact that he actually has teeth. It is a short-lived burst of expression that fades into the same neutral calm that Hux has affirmed to be the core of Kylo's emotional repertoire and for a moment, he is almost disappointed to see it withdrawn so swiftly.

Before his mind can wax poetic over the state of Kylo's facial antics, the waiter appears to take their order, Hux settling for the baked chicken mixed green salad and Kylo going the more traditional route with a hamburger and fries.

Hux watches as the other man sips his water and manages to procure an ice cube, which he slides between his lips in a gesture that is innocuous gesture but is suddenly far more than Hux has bargained for.

"So, you feel well enough to get back at it or what?"

Hux tears his gaze from Kylo's mouth and blinks. "What?"

"The dancing thing," Kylo says.

"Oh," Hux says. "Oh, well . . . somewhat. I am still tire far quicker than I would like, but I am improving."

"Yeah?" Kylo stirs his water with the straw. "Guess it's hard being the lead all the time."

A bitter, somewhat caustic laugh escapes him and Hux snaps his mouth shut to contain it before speaking. "How lucky for me that I am not dancing the lead role in this particular production."

Kylo tips his head to one side, a look of genuine befuddlement creasing his brow. "You're not?"

"No," Hux says.

"Looked like a lead to me," Kylo said. "Watching you practice with that girl and all."

"Yes, well . . ." Hux glances to the mural on the wall and focuses on a particularly bright pink lily outlined in gold. "It is the more difficult of the two parts in a technical sense, but the title does not reflect such things."

"So?" Kylo rests his elbows on the table and clasps his fingers together. "If you've got the hard part because of the talent, why does it matter?"

A fair point and one that Hux strives to remind himself of on a daily basis. Thannison, for all his youthful pride and flagrant displays of dancing prowess, cannot compete with Hux's experience, nor with his flexibility. _Giselle_ requires more than Thannison can offer. The role of Duke Albrecht is frivolous, romantic drivel fraught with flourishes and grandeur that have very little to do with higher-level technical ability and more to do with youthful, ardent idiocy. It is Hilarion's character that endures the emotional distress, the is forced beyond his limits into a catastrophic end. And it is Hux who can portray this not only with his body, but with his emotional projection as well.

"It shouldn't," Hux says at last.

"But it does," Kylo finishes for him.

Strange understanding passes between them and the incessant tapping of Hux's fingers upon his thigh tapers to a halt.

"Well, then," Hux begins after the first comfortable moment of silence all evening. "Tell me about this martial arts business of yours. I do not see any striking involved. What manner of art does not include striking?"

"Depends on which one you're talking about," Kylo says. "Aikido is defense only. It's the redirection of force with the intent to disarm rather than injure. Judo, not so much. That's a competitive art. Throwing, pinning, choking. Attacks and defense."

"And which is your preference?" Hux asks.

"The Aikido," Kylo says. "But it's not good to limit yourself. I picked up Judo to give myself a little balance, round out my skills. Dancers do that, right?"

"Of course," Hux says. "Ballet isn't my only talent."

Something Hux cannot place glints in the depths of Kylo's gaze. "Didn't think it was."

Hux fights the flush that threatens to color his fair skin and is more than a little thankful when the waiter arrives with their dinner to put a halt to whatever elaboration his vile brain had in mind.

Chicken and vegetables. It is always as such. Hux's severe lack of appetite does not help his indifference, especially not when in competition with the plate of salty, savory nonsense Kylo has ordered for himself.

Still, he manages to eat as if it is a choice and not a chore, doing his best not to watch as Kylo uses his hands for every morsel of food he consumes. And why would he not? It isn't as if one could eat a hamburger with a fork, although someone like himself might try just that. If Hux ever bothered to eat such things.

"Is that all you ever eat?" Kylo asked.

Hux take a moment to swallow a bite of chicken. "Something along these lines, yes."

His eyes drift to Kylo's now outstretched hand, the fingers of which are clasping a rather fat French fry that he waggles in Hux's direction.

"I am _not_ eating that," Hux says.

"You should," Kylo says.

Hux narrows his eyes. "No, thank you."

"Your performance would improve if you ate some carbs," Kylo continues. He shakes the fry with a more insistent gesture. "I bet you don't even gain weight easily."

"Perhaps not when I was 20," Hux mutters under his breath. "But really, Kylo. I cannot eat that. It is not only starchy, but also laden with fat."

"Delicious fat," Kylo says. "Just humor me."

Hux eyes the potato stick with as much vehemence as he can manage, but Kylo's hand remains as it is, extended towards him, fry dangling from his fingers like some forbidden, caustic carrot.

"Fine." Hux snatches the fry from between his fingers. "But after this, you leave me be, understand?"

"Yeah, sure." Kylo sits back in his chair. "Go on."

With a grimace, Hux slips the fry between his lips and sinks his teeth into the crunchy exterior. Crisp on the outside, salty and with a hint of pepper. Warm and mealy on the inside, just a fry should be. Just as he remembers it to be. An unexpected ripple of pleasure threads its way through his body as he chews and his eyes flutter closed for the briefest instant.

"Pretty good, huh."

Hux snaps back to the present and Kylo's satisfaction is more than evident, the corner of his mouth turned up into a smirk. As if he had known this all along.

_How very irritating._

"Awful," Hux says.

Kylo points a finger at Hux's plate. "That salad with no dressing is awful and I bet that chicken is blander than my boot."

"It's quite good, actually," Hux insists. He cuts away a piece of the breast and shoves his plate towards Kylo. "Taste it for yourself."

Kylo does not use a fork, but rather grabs the tidbit with fingers and pops into his mouth, chewing without expression.

"Now _that's_ awful," he says.

"Nonsense," Hux says.

"Really awful." Grasping a handful of fries, he drops them atop Hux's chicken breast like an edible configuration of Pick Up Sticks. "There. I fixed it."

Hux sits back in his chair with a huff. "I cannot _believe_ you just did that."

"Believe it." Kylo licks a bit of salt from the tip of his finger and fixes his gaze on Hux. "And don't lie to me about not wanting to eat those. I saw your face a minute ago."

"You saw nothing," Hux says with as much indignation as he can manage. But the faintest hint of nervous laughter shakes his shoulders as he purses his lips to keep it at bay.

"Sure I didn't." Kylo picks up his burger and motions towards Hux's plate with his free hand. "Don't make me give you half of this burger, too."

"Fine," Hux repeats. "But if I am too heavy to perform a proper grand jeté tomorrow, I will find you. I _do_ know where you live."

It is with some small degree of trepidation that he corals his over eager fingers into grasping one fry at a time and eating it with slow, methodical dedication as Kylo watches, his eyes following the movement of Hux's hand. The other man does not take a bite of his own food until Hux has managed to consume the very last fry, which he does not realize has emptied Kylo's plate of the things.

He sits back with a sigh of contentment that he cannot mask and pushes the chicken to the side with one hand, for he cannot so much as fathom eating it now.

"I despise you for this," Hux informs him.

"Yeah, you look like you do," Kylo says as he takes a large bite of his burger.

"Cretin," Hux says.

A foot nudges his own beneath the table, the tip of a boot dragging the edge of his calf as the other man fixes him with a smirk that does not quirk his mouth, but rather registers in his eyes.

"Asshole," he says.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Not a date. Definitely not a date._

It does not matter that Kylo helps him into his coat. Holds the door open for him. Hux barely manages to keep from asking if Kylo is serious or if perhaps he has read a bit too much Bronte. Either way, the dancer must admit that he fancies the behavior. Such a change from the stilted formality of his previous not-dates. Because this is certainly not one.

The weather boasts a brisk and unforgiving chill as Hux steps out of the warmth of the restaurant and he shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his coat. Blasted impending winter. At least the snow had not begun to fall.

A gust of wind ruffles his companion's hair away from his face and Kylo blinks for a moment before his expression collapses into something momentarily helpless. He leans away from Hux to muffle a rather wrenching sneeze into the crook of his elbow and Hux stiffens to halt.

Surely not. It has been days since their last encounter. Kylo would have begun to show symptoms long before now. Wouldn't he?

"Sorry," Kylo says with a sniff. "Temperature change got me."

"Temperature change," Hux repeats. "Are you certain?"

Kylo arches one eyebrow. "Yes?"

But Hux is not certain. The thought of this man wrestling with the nonsense Hux has endured sends him twining his fingers together with anxious twist and he must force himself to cease the habit.

"Have you grown too cold, then?" Hux asks instead. "Surely that sweater is not enough."

"It's fine," Kylo assures him with a chuckle.

But Hux is not convinced and Kylo's quiet sniffling is doing very little to add weight to his assertion.

"How can you traipse about in this fashion, anyway?" Hux asks. "You shall catch your death like this."

"You said that a few days ago and I'm still fine," Kylo assures him with a smirk.

Hux orders himself to bite his tongue, to cease his overt analysis of Kylo's well-being, but his fingers have begun to tug the scarf from his own throat, pulling it free and unwinding it.

"Here." He drapes the scarf over Kylo's shoulders, the cobalt cashmere a stark contrast to all of that black the other man insists on wearing. His hands tie a deft knot, cinching it perhaps a bit too tightly against Kylo's throat, and place a finger to his lips to silence him. "Do _not_ argue with me."

A smile tugs at the corners of Kylo's mouth, the effect mirrored in his dark eyes, softening his gaze. Fingers grasp the tips of his own and the brush of Kylo's lips graces his knuckles. Heat creeps to color Hux's fair skin as he commands himself to pull his hand from Kylo's grasp and finds that he cannot.

Flecks of white drift to mingle amongst the dark strands of Kylo's hair and Hux lets out a breath he does not realize he has been holding.

"I'll give it back to you Monday," Kylo says. "I'm sure I'll see--"

"No," Hux interrupts. "I . . . I would like for you to keep it." He reaches a hesitant hand towards the scarf, secures it into a snug position. "It suits you."

He brushes at the accursed snow that has begun to take up residence on Kylo's shoulder before straightening the knot. "And besides, you will not see me on Monday. I have a dress rehearsal to attend."

_And one self-important understudy to destroy._

"Yeah?" Kylo endures Hux's fussing with a crooked smile. "You have that performance soon?"

"We open Thursday," Hux says with a wrinkle of his nose. "Honestly, what fool believed a weekday a proper time for such a thing?"

"Doesn't sound too smart," Kylo agrees.

Hux finishes fiddling with the edges of the scarf and dusts away a few more flecks of snow before curling his fingers back into themselves. "I . . . would very much like to see you again, once the performances are past." He raises his gaze to meet Kylo's own, the mere inches that separate their height suddenly feeling as if they are a far greater distance. "Would you care for another . . . "

The words trail into silence and Kylo chuckles.

"Not-date?" the other man finishes for him.

"Well, yes," Hux says.

Kylo tips his head to one side, assesses Hux with those dark, unreadable eyes that are not quite brown but gilded with hints of gold and green. Strange, he had not noticed this nuance before . . .

"Okay," Kylo says.

No teasing. No complications. Only a simple, easy manner of acquiescing.

"There is an early afternoon performance on Sunday," Hux says. "If perhaps you are free that evening?."

"I'm free," Kylo says.

"Are you?" Hux nearly rolls his eyes at his own social idiocy before managing a recovery. "Alright. I will . . . call you on Friday?"

"It's only Saturday. Friday is next week." Fingers light upon his cheek, trailing the edge of his jaw. "You can call me before then."

A shiver passes chases its way down his spine and he glances up at the other man through a fringe of ginger lashes. "Maybe I shall."

Kylo steps closer, his hands coming to rest on Hux's shoulders, sliding to his upper arms, practically spanning the entirety of them. Gods, the man is enormous, his chest far broader than Hux can remember, shoulders wider and more defined. Yet despite his size, the nearness of his stature does not feel like an invasion, but rather something else.

Lips brush his forehead and the tip of Kylo's nose grazes the shell of his ear. "Call me tomorrow."

_How very brazen. How presumptuous. How . . . utterly endearing._

Hux swallows. Wets his lips. "Alright," he says again.

Another press of lips, to the blade of his cheek this time, a lingering touch that conjures a flush from his skin. The hands release him and Kylo retreats, that familiar hint of a smile upon his lips as he turns to walk back towards his car.

"Goodnight."

Hux stands upon the corner, watching as Kylo gets into that battered absurdity of a car and drives away, until the taillights of the vehicle fade into mere specks of red against the darkening streets.

His fingers reach to brush his cheek.

 

* * *

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody loves chocolate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to fight like hell to get this chapter written. I just started a new job and the schedule is going to take some getting used to, but fear not! Updates shall continue, albeit possibly a bit slower. :)

A short, personal rehearsal is a grueling endeavor that leaves Hux far more exhausted than he bargained for and he wisely chooses to abstain from further exertion, conserving his energy for the walk home.

The streets have just begun to darken as he pulls his phone from the pocket of his hooded sweatshirt to check the time. Nearly 5pm and the sky has already bled to a faint purple. Hux frowns to himself as he rounds the corner. Winter is nuisance. The cold is not conducive to jogging, nor is the irritation of snow cover.

He rounds the corner and hustles towards the door to his building, eschewing the elevator in favor of the stairs. Millicent will be hungry by now and he hasn't the patience to wait for the elevator.

And besides, he has a phone call to make. Once inside the apartment, he takes a moment to feed the vocal tabby that nearly trips him on his way to kitchen and drops his bag beside the couch before flopping onto the cushions, phone in hand.

Gods, it isn't as if this is high school. The man has asked him to call. Practically insisted on it. Still, hesitation marks the trek of his finger, but in the end, he makes the choice to tap the "call" icon.

_One ring. Two. Three._

He briefly considers terminating the call. Really, he does not want to leave a voice mail if Kylo does not---

"Hey . . ."

Kylo's voice, soft and dark, just as he remembers it. Hux cradles the phone to his ear, curls his fingers around the sides, as if seeking to press its resonsance further into himself somehow.

"Hi," he says.

A pause. A rustling of fabric. A sigh of sorts. Had the man just woken up? "So, you called."

"Well . . . you did ask me to," Hux reminds him.

"Didn't expect you to listen."

There is a nuance in the other man's voice that Hux cannot quite place, a different manner of depth. Common sense presents that perhaps Kylo has managed to catch himself some sort of cold after all, but instinct suggests otherwise.

"Have I caught you at a bad time?" Hux asks.

"No," Kylo says. "I'm . . . glad you called. "Did you have rehearsal today?"

The strange thickness to Kylo's voice grows lighter, more fluid, and Hux relaxes just a touch.

"Not formally," Hux says. "I merely went to do a bit of conditioning myself. My stamina is still less than desirable."

"You'll get it back," Kylo says. "Tell me about the part you're practicing for."

Hux blinks. "About the character?"

"Sure," Kylo says. "I don't know anything about this stuff."

"Well . . ." Hux wets his lips. Taps his fingers against the table. "If you are truly curious."

"I am."

Hux begins an explanation of Hilarion's characterization, of his fondness of the beautiful peasant girl, Giselle, and his suspicions of her love interest who calls himself Loys, but is really the insipid noble, Duke Albrecht. Hilarion's disdain for "Loys" is quite easy for the redheaded dancer, who finds that he does not need to act in order to portray it, especially in regards to his colleague. Perhaps the casting director was a bit more brilliant than he let on, convincing Hux to take what some would consider to be a more minor role. Except for the fact that Thannison couldn't so much as dance twenty seconds of Hilarion's solo if his existence depended on it.

"There's quite a lot of acting involved," Hux says. "The lead in this particular production is little more than lies and overt romantic overtures." He pauses, chuckling to himself. "I say this as if most ballet is not as such at some point."

Silence from the other end of the line. Hux arches an eyebrow, as if his companion can see the action. "Are you there?"

"I'm here."

The man's voice is quieter once more, subdued. Not to mentioned, peppered by the occasional sniffle.

"Kylo," Hux begins. "Perhaps it is not my place to ask such things, but are you certain you're not coming down with something?"

"Just tired," Kylo says. "But I like listening to you."

"I haven't the faintest idea why," Hux says. "I feel as if I am prattling on about nonsense while you are silent."

On the other end of the line, Kylo's steady breathing is marred by the faintest catch before resuming a normal state. "Your voice is soothing to me."

"Soothing." Hux repeats the word as if testing it for inaccuracies. "That isn't one I've heard before."

 _Sharp. Biting. Acerbic._ All of these, yes. But soothing? Not hardly.

"How long have you been dancing?" Kylo asks.

"Longer than I care to remember," Hux says. "I have loved it since I was a child. My mother was most encouraging."

His father, not so much, but the dancer leaves this point of his life's plotline out for the moment. A conversation about Colonel Hux Sr. is not one he wishes to undertake, not this early in their relationship. Or at any stage, really.

"My mom was really cool about the whole martial arts thing, too," Kylo says.

"So, you have been studying since your youth?" Hux asks.

"Sort of," Kylo says. "I got picked on a lot when I was in high school. Started taking Tae Kwon Do and the teasing stopped."

"How very _Karate Kid_ of you," Hux says.

A low chuckle from the opposite end of the line. "Well, I was a goofy-looking kid."

"You were?" Hux wrinkles his nose. "I find that quite difficult to believe."

"Believe it," Kylo says.

"Well," Hux says. "Puberty was certainly kind to you."

Another chuckle. "Was it?"

Did the man not own a mirror? With his dark, near shoulder length hair and prominent features, Kylo presents a figure that is uniquely dashing in his own way, a handsome alternative to the traditional preppy look of many of Hux's colleagues. It is a face that Hux has thought about far too often in the past few days, one he cannot seem to pry from his mind, just as the nuances of Kylo's behavior is a disconcerting thing.

 _Mind your own business,_ he orders himself. _Whatever this man's problem might currently be is none of your concern. He does not know you and you know nothing of him._

This has always been his way. Professional distance. Emotional disconnect. The feeling of concern over Kylo's well-being is a newness he cannot process, one that refuses to be stowed away and dismissed.

"I still have your nightshirt, you know," Hux says before he can order himself to keep the absurd suggestion from tripping over his tongue. "Perhaps I could . . . return it to you, if you are in need of it."

And it is too late.

He resists the urge to splay a hand over his face at his own thinly veiled attempt to solicit Kylo's company. Had it been so long that his social skills had now become inept? Great gods. He waits for the polite refusal that is sure to follow, for the other man to inform him that such a thing is not necessary nor important. And why would it be? Surely Kylo has other nightshirts.

_Unless he does not wear---_

"Sure," Kylo says. "I'm not busy."

"You're not?" Hux cringes at the incredulous edge to his tone, grateful that Kylo cannot see the inordinate eye roll he manages at his own questioning. "Well, then. I can drop it off at your leisure, whenever that might be."

"Now is good," Kylo says.

The darkness of his tone has lightened just a touch, a faint but noticeable pitch and Hux smiles as though the other man can see him.

"Half an hour, then?"

"Half an hour is fine. See you soon."

Hux says his goodbyes and taps the "end" icon on the phone, indulges in a brief shower, and leaves with the aforementioned shirt draped over one arm. Perhaps Kylo will not notice that it has not been washed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The hesitant knock at the door comes precisely thirty minutes later. Well, the man is punctual as hell. Kylo unlatches the chain and releases the deadbolt. The other man stands before him, hair still damp and combed away from his face, nightshirt tucked beneath his arm, a styrofoam cup in his other hand, posture all but broadcasting his uncertainty over the situation. Pretty cute for such an anxious guy. And probably pretty hard for him to do, too.

Kylo does not mention how grateful he is for the company, how the day's events have worn on him far more than he thought they would. After all, it is just a day like any other day.

Only it isn't.

"Hey," he says.

"Hi," Hux replies.

A small smile tugs at his mouth and he steps aside. "Come in."

The redhead holds the cup out to him. "I brought you some tea," he says. "You sounded as if you could use, regardless of what you might have said."

"I can always use tea," Kylo says.

Green eyes study him with slight, narrowed scrutiny and Kylo wonders if the condition of his emotional state is more obvious than he had hoped. To his credit, Hux says nothing, handing over the tea and draping the shirt over the back of the couch. But the silence does not last.

"Kylo," Hux says with a tilt of his head. "I do not mean to pry, but you seem . . ." Hux's voice trails into a wordless inquiry and he takes a step forward, one hesitant hand skimming Kylo's arm. "If I am intruding--"

"No." Kylo grasps the tips of Hux's fingers, the man's hands are slender and strangely delicate in comparison to his own grip. "Today is--" He pauses, orders the words to squeeze past his lips only to find them cinching his throat tight. A deep breath. A steadying rise and fall of shoulders. "Did you really come to bring me that shirt?"

Hux blinks as if taken aback, but the gesture is feigned to an almost comical degree. "Of course I--" The dancer shakes his head, smiles ruefully and flicks his gaze to Kylo's own. "Well, I confess that I might have had an ulterior motive. It was just that you sounded so . . ."

Fingers brush his cheek, trace the contour of his jaw and Kylo slides a hand to hold Hux's own in place against the side of his face.

"Tired?" he finishes for the other man.

"Sad," Hux corrects him.

Kylo's slow blink does little to betray his current mood. "Sad, huh? Hmmn."

The little redheaded bastard is way more perceptive that Kylo could have anticipated, more than he would care to admit or endure.

"Well." Hux plunks a hand on his hip. "Aren't you?"

A soft sigh escapes him and Kylo spends a short eternity attempting to concoct something other than the truth that is not ready to speak to this man, this stranger, who has somehow managed to entangle himself not only Kylo's life, but into his mind as well.

"I . . . " Kylo wets his lips, runs a hand through his hair.

"Perhaps this is too personal," Hux muses more to himself than to Kylo. "Alright, another approach. Come along, then."

A hand clamps over his wrist and Kylo raises an eyebrow. "Where are we going?"

"Out," Hux says. He nods towards the leather jacket draped over the chair. "And please put that on this time, would you?"

"It isn't that cold outside," Kylo says.

Hux casts him a withering look complete with long-suffering sigh. "Humor me."

A chuckle rises from his throat and the faint beginnings of a smile pull at the corners of his mouth. "Bossy."

Hux side-eyes him as he slips the coat over his shoulders. "You've no idea."

 

 

* * *

 

 

The dancer paces his stride, slowing from his usual brisk walk to a more comfortable amble. There is no hurry, no need to rush. Instead, he simply walks beside his companion amidst the glow of street lamps and the faint sprinkling of stars. Kylo's shoulder brushes his own, leather rubbing against the wool of his grey coat and he is emboldened, skimming hesitant fingers along the outside of Kylo's palm with testing touch. The other man's hand slips into his grip, fingers twining with a loose squeeze and Hux fights the sudden flush that threatens to climb his cheeks.

Two blocks from the crammed spaces of apartment-style living is a coffee shop that keeps odd hours and odder company, a small, out-of-the-way space that has managed to survive despite the corporate presence of the dreaded Starbucks looming from across the street.

Pausing just before the window, Hux nods towards the sign. "Have you ever been to this place?"

"I've seen it," Kylo says. "Never been inside, though."

"Well, then," Hux says. "I suppose I shall have to share my very secret indulgence with you."

One dark eyebrow raises. "You have a secret indulgence?"

"Perhaps I do," Hux says. "Is that so difficult to believe?"

"Depends on the indulgence," Kylo says.

The bell atop the door tinkles as Hux opens it, leading Kylo past the wooden tables that showcase handmade vases and sculptures and to the counter with the menu written in hot pink and yellow chalk upon the blackboard style backdrop.

"A little late for coffee," Kylo says.

"We are not having coffee," he says as the barista approaches. "We are having hot chocolate."

"Hot chocolate?" Kylo repeats. "Didn't think you'd be into that."

"This," Hux begins, "is not even mildly reminiscent of that pre-packaged nonsense one has a child. This is for the more discerning palate."

"Do you ever talk like a normal person?" Kylo asks.

Hux shrugs. "Normalcy bores me." He points to a chocolate frosted monstrosity of a cake, complete with enormous chocolate chips and curled shavings of even more chocolate atop of it. "And we shall have a slice of that as well."

"You're kidding," Kylo says.

"One never jests about cake," Hux informs him.

He ushers Kylo over to a well-worn leather couch that resides in the farthest corner of the room, away from the few patrons that have gathered around the wooden tables near the door.

"I didn't think you'd be a cake person," Kylo says.

"This is not just any cake," Hux says.

Before further conversation can ensue, the hot chocolate arrives, the plate of cake accompanied by two forks, as if the server knows that Hux himself cannot eat such a thing alone. He wastes no time setting the plate in his lap and carving a frosted chunk from the confection, holding it aloft.

"This," he says, "is quite possibly the most decadent thin you will ever taste in this vile city. And it is physically impossible to be sad whilst consuming it." He holds the fork out to his companion. "Go on."

Taking the utensil from him, Kylo inspects the cake for a moment with what looks to be a critical eye before he slides the fork between his lips. His eyes flutter close and the first traces of a smile begin to curve his lips.

"I told you," Hux says.

"You know what makes it taste like this, right?" Kylo runs his tongue along the edge of the fork before tapping the edge of the plate with it. "Dark chocolate. Really dark. And a lot of it. There's no flour in this cake."

"You seem to know your desserts," Hux says.

"I know _food._ " He picks up one of the mugs and inhales the wafting scent of sugary sweetness before savoring a sip. "Also made exclusively with dark chocolate," he concludes. "Heavy cream, too."

"Indeed," Hux says.

Already, the fine lines of tension that marred Kylo's dark eyes have begun to fade, color infusing his pale cheeks, a hint of warmth tingeing his gaze. Whatever weighs upon his mind has lightened, his demeanor softening, the emotional wall that had greeted Hux not half an earlier dissipating between quiet sips of hot chocolate and a comfortable atmosphere.

A hand grasps the tips of his fingers and squeezes, a wordless thank you conveyed through touch alone and Hux returns the gesture, catching Kylo's gaze with his own, a small smile curving his mouth.

"You said you would eat some of this," Kylo says after his third bite of cake. He offers a dense forkful to Hux, bringing the utensil to his lips.

Rather than take the fork from Kylo's hand with his own, Hux allows the other man to slip it between his lips and feed him the morsel, the softest hint of a moan ebbing from his throat.

"Oh gods," he groans. "I have forgotten the taste of this chocolate sorcery."

A higher chuckle from his companion, almost a giggle of sorts, and Hux finds that he cannot help but return the sound with one of his own.

"I guess you don't eat this kind of thing often," Kylo says as he offers Hux another bite of cake.

"Not often, no." Hux swipes a smear of frosting from the plate and licks his fingers. "Sugar-laden confections and dancing are not particularly good company."

"I could make this," Kylo says. "Probably with less sugar, too. It's pretty easy."

Hux tilts his head. Surely such a thing is not possible. Nearly every "low sugar" recipe he has consumed has been a catastrophic failure and none of them taste at all like their true counterparts.

"Wouldn't be low fat, though," Kylo continues, stroking his chin. "Flavor has to come from somewhere."

Hux eyes him over the rim of his mug full of hot chocolate. "You have the most eccentric mix of interests."

Kylo smirks. "You can just say I'm weird."

"Fine," Hux says. He lays a hand upon Kylo's thigh, a tentative gesture that is well-received when the other man splays his sizeable fingers over Hux's hand in a response that is strangely natural at this point. "Are you feeling a bit better, then?"

Kylo says nothing, but the smile that graces his lips reaches the depths of his eyes and the hand curls over Hux's own with a squeeze of fingers.

 

* * *

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux's performance produces an unexpected result.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAVE BEEN DYING TO GET TO THIS PART. There's also some super sweet art by Pidgy-draws at the bottom of the page! Looking at it will melt your heart. I am not responsible if any of you dissolve into pure sugar after looking at it. ;)

The theater is a foreign place, not quite like a stadium for a rock concert, but definitely not a space for movies, either. Not to mention the patrons.

Leather pants and his favorite black sweater are probably not appropriate attire, but he has nothing else. And it's never bothered him before, anyway. Let the snobby types stare if they want. Kylo doesn't care.

He has chosen a seat near the end of the row, a place where the stage is still easily viewed, but one that doesn't require that he sandwich himself between a little old lady and a dour-faced professor. The blue hairs offer stern stares of disapproval in his direction, but this is nothing new. He's not here for them, anyway. Only one thing matters. One person.

He sinks into the seat at the end of the row, unfolds the crinkled program he has managed to crush between his hands, squints at the pictures besides the roles. Thannison in the lead role, that kid Hux had spent a good twenty minutes dismissing and grumbling over sure doesn't look like much, not with his baby face features and thin countenance. Hux, by comparison, is elegant and stoic, his features sharp and severe with cheekbones that could cut a man's hand.

A soft, dismissive snort escapes him. What the hell does Hux have to worry about with this guy? From a distance, Kylo has watched them both in studio long before his encounter with Hux. Although he knows nothing of dance, he knows enough about proper physical technique in any art to see that Thannison is all overdramatic gesturing while Hux is precision and grace. The kid can hardly hope to compare.

Setting the program aside, he sits back in his chair as the overture begins and the curtain draws away from the edges of the stage. He hasn't researched the story much, but a brief summary online has given him the gist of things. The wisp of a girl, presumably Giselle, takes center stage and begins to tell the story of the ballet with her body, a fragile, delicate display of physical prowess in a gossamer skirt, shyly seduced by the ardent advances of Duke Albrecht, who doesn't look nearly as good in a pair of tights as Hux's Hilarion surely will. He's seen that ass in those tights. And he's given it a damn good stare.

And speaking of . . .

Hilarion glides onto the stage with such commanding presence, Kylo leans forward in his seat. He had expected some kind of silly costume, but not the boots that come up just past Hux's knees and the belted, cobalt blue tunic that is tailored to a snug fit across his svelte body. Not to mention the tights. White and revealing, despite the dark brown boots. Every movement of the man's leg is accentuated, the muscles beneath the taut fabric working in sculpted perfection as the two men begin to "argue," posturing and gesturing, but it is Hilarion's disdain for his rival that is the most fierce, the scowl of displeasure that carves his face into cold fury that captivates Kylo. Albrecht's presence pales in comparison to that of the furious Hilarion. And the audience takes note. Stares that are meant for the lead are riveted to the fiery redhead with his precise, elegant technique a wonderful contrast to Hilarion's inner torment.

The story itself is easy enough to follow, the betrayal of Giselle's trust as Albrecht lies about his betrothal and Hilarion's attempt to convince her otherwise with the evidence of the Duke's hidden sword, which Hilarion presents to Giselle with such triumphant snark that Kylo is certain Hux feels it to his core.

But it is not Giselle's untimely demise nor her duet with Albrecht that captivates him. It is Hilarion's grief, the rawness of the character's pain that Hux presents to the audience with unapologetic fervor, the crushed anguish of his posture, the clenching gestures of his hands. Thannison's artless Albrecht pales in comparison, especially when Hilarion's solo approaches.  
Kylo's limited knowledge of the ballet's storyline is not needed to understand what begins to transpire, the way that women on the stage surround and command Hilarion's body into an unnatural dance that contorts and flexes his limbs with disturbing jerks and pulls, as if the characters has given himself over to some strange spell. The leaps are unnaturally high, the turns inhumanly fast, the multiple collapses of his body upon the stage a strange combination of boneless grace and limbs bent at odd angles as Hilarion pleads for his life, but to no avail. With a final flick of a wrist, he is dispatched. And Kylo's attention to the remainder of the ballet is thwarted.

He sits back in his chair, runs a hand through his thick hair and displaces it, calming his breath into some semblance of normalcy.

 _It's not real,_ he reminds himself.

But the emotional charge that sparks within him refuses to settle. It is not until the curtain falls that he raises his gaze to the stage once more, clapping politely as the dancers step forward in turn to take their final bows. Thannison's performance as Albrecht is received well, but aside from the female lead, it is Hux who garners the crowd's whole-hearted enthusiasm. Wild cheering and clapping. Patrons rising to their feet. Hux's bow is gracious and polite, but Kylo does not miss the hint of surprise that flits across his features.

Did the man really think dancing a role other than the lead would diminish him somehow? Kylo smile to himself and shakes his head as he rises to his feet and slips away from the crowd, the sound of applause filling the auditorium in his wake.

 

* * *

 

 

Hux leans against the nearest wall, the thick gray sweater he has donned in place of his costume hanging to mid-thigh, the topmost edge threatening to slide from his shoulder, a plush white scarf draping his neck.

This is the part he dreads most of all, the pandering and the polite banter. The need to be gracious and accommodating to each and every person who sees fit to speak to him. Despite a decent night's sleep and adequate hydration, the fatigue from his flu still lingers. Exhaustion is a heavy mantle upon his shoulders, slowing his steps and muddling his thoughts.

And of course, there is Thannison, who stands surrounded by adoring fans that compliment his performance. Fans that saw fit to congratulate Hux first. He derives a small, petty smile from that knowledge, one that he does not bother to hide when the younger dancer glances his way.  
Thannison's gaze darkens and the corner of Hux's lip lifts in a matching sneer. Perhaps the insipid child would appreciate the fine view of his middle finger . . .

"Let him gloat while he can," the familiar voice of his fellow soloist, Angelique, drifts to his ears. "You stole his glory and he knows it."

"Yes, well." Hux fiddles his scarf, tossing the edge of it over one shoulder. "Maturity is not his strongest suit."

"Neither are lifts," Angelique says. "The little brat almost dropped me twice."

Hux chuckles and runs a hand through his still-damp hair as Angelique's hand lights upon his shoulder and squeezes.

"Go home, Brendol," she says. "We can't have that one thinking he's out-danced because of your lack of sleep, now can we?"

Hux can only nod as he grabs his bag, weary of the thought of journeying out into the cold to catch a cab, as driving was simply out of the question in this part of the city. At least the crowd seems to be settling. Hoisting the strap of the bag over one shoulder, he turns to make a hasty, quiet exit.

The throng parts just enough for Hux to make his way towards the end of the corridor, but his attempts at evading the masses are thwarted when his feet suddenly refuse to further his progress.

At the end of the hall stands an all-too-familiar figure, clad in a clingy black sweater and those accursed leather pants. Nestled within the crook of his arm is the largest bouquet of flowers Hux has ever seen, an armload of sterling roses wrapped in plain white paper.

And one very familiar blue scarf trailing his shoulder.

The bag slides from his arm and drops to the floor as he stands motionless, the bodies in the crowded hallway moving aside in accordance with Kylo's steps. Every inch of Hux's skin is somehow uncomfortably tight, as if his chest cannot expand enough within its confines to draw a proper breath.

The chatter of many voices fades into a buzz of sound as Kylo halts before him, presenting him with the bouquet in a wordless gesture that speaks volumes.

"You . . . you came . . ." Hux says in hushed astonishment.

"I did," Kylo says. Paper crunches as he closes the distance between them, slips a hand between Hux's shoulders. "You were captivating."

Hux tips his head back, his voice a breathless murmur. "Was I?"

"Raw," Kylo says. "Perfect."

Kylo's nose brushes his own and a shiver marches down Hux's spine.

"Oh . . ." Hux manages. "That is . . . such . . . "

Lips capture his mouth and Hux turns to pliant heat within Kylo's embrace, his hands sliding to cup the other man's face, pulling him closer. Paper crackles as the fingers splay between his shoulders, urging him into a tight fit against Kylo's chest as the kiss deepens. A soft moan escapes him, answered by a low, rumbling purr from his companion and Hux's hands fall away to grasp at the fabric of the sweater, tangling around the scarf.

Around him, voices blur and blend into a droning hum, the crinkle of the paper-wrapped flowers a muffled nuance. Kylo is explorative and thorough, stealing his breath as well as his ability to stand, but the hand upon his back is a bracing anchor. Hux rises onto the tips of his toes and the hand that rests upon the small of his back presses him closer.

Kylo's kiss trails into a soft parting of lips and a nuzzling of his ear.

"You wanna go somewhere else?"

Every hair on Hux's body prickles to attention and he suppresses a shiver. "Alright," he says.

"Anywhere you want." Kylo kisses the side of his neck and the shiver traces every hair on his arms to attention. "Just name it."

Hux slides his hands into the thick softness of Kylo's hair. "Back to your apartment. With you."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Within the confines of the elevator, Hux slips his hands beneath Kylo's coat, slides his fingers along the musculature of the other man's back across the thin fabric of his sweater. Kylo draws him into his embrace, presses a soft, pliant kiss to his lips and Hux resists the urge to deepen it into something obscene and desperate.

The journey to the fifth floor is a short excursion and Hux gathers the bouquet of flowers from the ledge upon the railing before following Kylo to his door.

"Could we put these in a bit of water?" he asks as he traces the edge of a petal with one finger. "I do not want them to die."

"Sure," Kylo says. He unlocks the deadbolt and pauses to impart a lingering kiss to Hux's lips once more. "But I'll get you some more if they do."

"You . . . do not have to do that," Hux says.

A small smile curves Kylo's lips. "You're cute."

 _"Cute?"_ Hux wrinkles his nose. "What nonsense."

"Well . . ." Kylo's hand travels the length of his back and grazes his backside. "Maybe a few other words, too."

A flutter of heat chases its way through Hux's core and he allows Kylo to hold the door open for him, stepping inside the now-familiar apartment with its strange, mismatched furniture and overly thick carpeting. Odd how such things no longer strike him as unsightly, but rather comfortably familiar. Welcoming. So much more lived-in than his own sterile space.

After handing the roses over to Kylo, he drops his bag near the edge of the couch and follows him into the kitchen, watching as Kylo unwraps the flowers from the paper and snips the edges of each rose before depositing them into a chipped blue vase with warped edges.

"There." Kylo turns to face him. Strides towards him with a purposeful slink of hips. "They'll survive."

Hands light upon his hips and Hux grasps the edges of the scarf, tugging Kylo down into another kiss, a searching tangle of lips and tongues. The hands grip him, hoisting him atop the table, sending a pile of mail spilling onto the tile.

"You truly enjoyed the performance?" Hux asks between nibbling, teasing kisses.

"I did," Kylo rumbles. He runs a hand along Hux's thigh, squeezes the muscle there. "You look damn fine in tights, too."

A nervous flitter of laughter escapes him and Hux winds his fingers into the dark depths of Kylo's hair. "I did not believe ballet to be of any interest to you."

" _You_ interest me," Kylo says.

The beginnings of a flush color his fair skin as he runs a hand down Kylo's chest with a wandering of fingers, pausing to hook a finger through the belt loop of his leather pants. "Do you compete with those sword routines of yours?"

"With the katas?" Kylo nuzzles his ear. "Yeah."

Hux shivers. "I would very much like to see that."

"Maybe I'll give you a private show," Kylo says.

Hux scoots to the edge of the table, wraps a leg around Kylo's lower body. "Perhaps I could give you one as well."

A low sound of appreciation thrums from Kylo's chest, like the purr of some great beast and Hux cranes his neck for another kiss. As if he cannot get enough of the press of Kylo's mouth against his own, of the feel of his body beneath that supple leather. But Kylo's touch is a gentle restraint, a tactful and careful brush of finger, a warming exploration of Hux's mouth.

Hux tugs at his sweater, seeks the touch of skin to skin contact.

"Kylo," he murmurs. "I . . . I need . . ."

Kylo's hand drifts beneath the fabric of his tights to stroke his hip, the calloused tips of his fingers a rough counterpoint to Hux's soft skin. He feathers Hux's neck with kisses, lips pressed against the hollow of his throat.

"Has it been a long time for you?"

The dark rumble of Kylo's voice vibrates against his neck, through his collarbones. Had it been a long time for him? Not for meaningless, casual sex. Not for the careless nature of one night spent in the company of dispassionate touches and embraces.

But this touch is thorough and heated, an exploration of his body that both fervent and gentle at once. It brings a rush of color to Hux's fair skin, pushes at his defenses in a quiet way that seeks a yield, but does not demand it. What Kylo seeks is not power or retribution. It is something far more intricate.

It has not been a "long time" for him. It has been an eternity.

"Yes," Hux says in breathless repose.

Kylo's hand splays across the small of his back, draws him closer.

"And for me," Kylo confesses.

Hux slides his arms around Kylo's neck and seeks another kiss, the softness of Kylo's lips a heated press against his mouth. A muffled, plaintive noise escapes him and Kylo draws him closer, deepening the kiss until Hux forgets to breathe.

He wraps his legs around the other man's waist and cinches his body tight against Kylo's own until his companion gasps into his mouth.

"I forget how strong you are," Kylo murmurs against the edge of his lips.

"I am also quite flexible," Hux says.

Hands slide beneath his backside, but Kylo does not need to lift him from the table. Hux has a firmer grip upon the other man than Kylo could ever imagine. Still, Kylo carts him across the living room as if his weight is inconsequential and makes a show of kicking the door to the bedroom open rather than turning the knob.

"So dramatic," Hux informs him with a smirk.

Fingers knead into this backside with a firm squeeze. "My hands are busy."

Hux slides an appreciative hand over Kylo's chest. "Perhaps you should remove my tights."

He does not need to ask twice. Kylo deposits him onto the bed as if he is a precious and fragile thing, pausing strip himself of the scarf and sweater, leather pants still intact as he climbs atop the bed, tossing Hux's fleece-insulated boots aside and tugging the light gray cotton from his legs with slow, tender precision. Hands push the fabric of his sweater over his hips and Kylo bends his head, hair tickling Hux's stomach as he kisses the faint trail of ginger hair just below his navel, his tongue skirting Hux's hip, rending a gasp from the dancer.

The sweater follows and Kylo sits back on his heels with a slow tilt of his head before covering Hux's body with his own, gathering him into his embrace.

"And you," Hux says, tugging at the leathers. " _These_ must go."

"I have to stand up to get them off," Kylo says. "Just a sec."

Hux rolls onto his stomach, watching as the other man gets to his feet and begins to peel the leather from his skin with an audible creak, eyes widening to an almost comical degree when the evidence of Kylo's arousal springs free of its leather confines.

_Good.  Lord._

The other man tilts his head. "What?"

_Where to even begin . . ._

Kylo is a solid mass of muscle, not the lithe, finely tuned leanness of a dancer's body, but carved of hard angles and wide planes, his shoulders dwarfing Hux's own, his torso sleek with cobbled definition. Even his legs are thick with well-developed muscle, every inch of the man athletic perfection.

Hux crawls to the edge of the bed and stands up, slipping hesitant arms around his naked companion, hands roving over his back and down his sides with appreciative exploration.

"Gods, you're stunning," Hux remarks before he can stop himself.

The other man shrugs. "If you think so."

"Stop it." Hux turns their bodies and gives Kylo a gentle push towards the edge of the bed near the nightstand. "Sit."

A low chuckle ebbs from Kylo's throat, but he does as Hux commands. Enough of this. Now, if only he could find some manner of---

"In there," Kylo says with a nod towards to the drawer, as if he has read Hux's mind.

Pulling the drawer open, he sifts through its contents with a blind hand, coming up with a bottle of oil. Dark eyes follow the movements of his hands as he palms a generous portion and reaches for the hard length between Kylo's legs, slickening him with slow, decisive strokes until a soft groan trickles from Kylo's lips.

Fingers dig into his hips, coaxing him forward and Hux kneels on either side of Kylo's lap, arms draping his shoulders. Warm palms settle upon the small of his back and pull him closer as Kylo nips at his jaw, trailing his neck with kisses before capturing his mouth once more.

It is only when Hux begins to settle himself into a more intimate position that Kylo's breathing bleeds into a shivering groan. But he does not buck his hips or arch into the slow press of Hux's body. The control belongs to the dancer, who can feel the sweat beginning to bead his brow as accommodating Kylo stretches him wide and taut. The faintest hint of a vocal sigh escapes him and the palms that span his back press him closer.

"You okay?" Kylo murmurs near his ear, his breath a heated caress upon Hux's neck.

Hux's voice is a breathy rasp of affirmation as he unfolds his legs to wrap them around Kylo's waist, sinking Kylo's length into the constricting heat of his body until the other man fills him to the hilt.

Kylo nuzzles the now-damp hair at his temple. "You're sweating . . ."

Hux shifts his body with clench of muscles that makes his companion gasp. "Have you seen yourself?"

The other man laughs, a genuine sort of self-conscious chuckle and Hux steals another kiss from him, the feel of Kylo's smile against his mouth more precious than any carnal act could ever be.

"Fear not," Hux assures him between gentle kisses. "I feel certain I can manage you."

"Yeah?" Kylo's hips nudge him with a controlled lift.

Hux arches his back and slides his body along the length of his companion with slow contraction of muscles. "Yes."

 _"Shiiiit . . . "_ Kylo groans with such fierce ardor that it is Hux's turn to laugh.

Cupping Kylo's face within his palms, Hux kisses him, arching himself against Kylo's body, swallowing Kylo's groan into a muffled hum of sound. A hand asserts itself between their bodies and wrap's Hux's hardness with a commanding squeeze of fingers and the dancer shudders, rolling his hips hard against Kylo's own.

The roughness of Kylo's oiled fingers is a stark contrast to the softness of his skin and Hux splits his attention between the stroking of Kylo's hand and the undulation of his own hips atop the other man's lap. Tension coils within him far faster than he anticipates, unfurling threads of pleasure within his core and he pants against Kylo's shoulder with a heave of his chest.

"Go on," Kylo rumbles.

"I . . . " Hux begins to say, but the words are strangled within him with clenching gasp as heat rushes to suffuse his body, sending him into a spasm of release that rends a hoarse cry from his throat, as if the sound is clawing its way from his body.

Kylo's hands tense upon his back, cinching him into a tight embrace, his own breathing escalating into a vocal pant that hitches high in his chest for a moment before exploding into an outright groan. Hips arch into him with a desperate jerk and he cinches his muscles tight, sending Kylo's groan into a more of a sharp shout.

He spans his hands across Hux's back and pulls him into a crushing embrace, his forehead pressed against Hux's shoulder before flopping back onto the mattress with a heaving sigh, pulling Hux atop him.

The dancer threads his fingers through the dark hair, pushing it away from Kylo's eyes and smoothing it from his forehead, but it is the gentle warmth that lingers in his gaze which sends a flush to further pinken Hux's fair skin. Hands smooth a path over his side, down to his hip and back up again. A nuzzle of his ear. A lingering kiss upon his lips. As if he is a thing to be savored. Treasured. Hux curls his body against Kylo's chest, presses as much of his bare skin as he can manage to Kylo's own, drapes a leg over his thigh, as if to hold him in place.

For once, Hux is not compelled to pull away, to don his clothing and make a hasty exit. Instead, he relaxes into Kylo's embrace, allowing the other man's fingers to rove over his body. Down his back. Over his side. As if memorizing the topography of his skin through tactile sensation alone.

"Your hands are so warm," Hux murmurs drowsily.

As was the rest of him. Including his---

"Oh. You're still . . . " the dancer says, the phrase tapering into a chuckle.

"Heh, sorry." Kisses along the edge of his temple. More nuzzling of his ear. "I told you it's been a long time for me."

"Hhmn. Well, then." Hux slips a hand between his companion's legs, smiling when a shudder passes over the other man's broad shoulders. "How fortunate for you that dancing has given me impressive stamina."

 

* * *

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gratuitous fluffy touchy-feely and lots of kissing. Lots. Of. Kissing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the late update, but we had some massive, historically awful flooding in my town and it's pretty much an apocalyptic landscape of ruin right now. My husband and I came out fine, but my family home flooded and . . . it's bad. If you would like to [read about what happened](http://crackedverbosity.tumblr.com/post/149302743137/louisiana-flood-follies-cracked-version-20) or check out my [Go Fund Me](https://www.gofundme.com/HelptheHillFamilyR) that I established to help my parents out, here ya go! One thing I can say is that it's a damn good story lol! 
> 
> But I'm back and super grateful to be writing again! ENJOY!

The sun has just begun to poke inquisitive tendrils of light through the tattered draperies when Kylo awakens, eyes slowly fluttering to half-mast. An arm drapes his chest, a tuft of ginger hair tickling his chin as he lolls his head to one side. The dancer is nestled against him, head resting upon his shoulder, body fitted to his own, his breathing even and deep, limbs heavy with slumber.

Kylo nuzzles the fiery locks, shifts himself so the he might draw the other man closer into his embrace . . . and stifles a sigh when his body is hell bent on betraying the sweetness of the moment with something more carnal. He attempts to put a bit of polite distance between himself and the still-sleeping man beside him, but Hux only inches closer, burrowing deeper beneath the sheets, body shifting against him. Fingers that are not his own wrap around the length of him with a lazy stroke and a shudder traverses his shoulders as he arches into the motion with a soft groan. Teeth nip at the lobe of his ear and lips feather the side of his neck with kisses as the stroking intensifies, sending a spike of heat through his core.

"Bren . . . " Kylo murmurs, only half-managing the other man's name before the hand squeezes, rending a gasp from his lips.

Well, fuck. Hux has barely even touched him and already---

"Go on, then." Hux's sleep-deepened cultured voice is a purr of roughened silk within his ear. "Give yourself to it."

His breath catches in his throat before bleeding out of him in a stammering, vocal pant as Hux's capable fingers squeeze and manipulate him into a core-searing climax that is anything but gentle. A fine sheen of sweat coats his brow as he flops back against the pillow, the lithe form of his companion pressed against his body.

A hand sweeps his hair from his face, traces a path down his cheek as he flicks his gaze to meet the blue-green clarity of Hux's eyes.

"Good morning," the other man says, a crooked smile quirking his lips.

Kylo tugs him down into a rough, lingering kiss despite his protests that perhaps he should have a bit of mouthwash first. But polite morning formalities are forgotten as Hux indulges the kiss with a sudden, eager tangling of lips and tongues and Kylo splays a hand across the small of his back, urging him closer.

"Well, well . . ." Hux's hand traces a path down his hip, pausing just shy of the still-painfully aroused length of him. "You certainly are amorous, aren't you?"

Heat tints Kylo's skin to a faint flush as he nuzzles Hux's ear. "Sorry," he mumbles into a nest of fair hair. "It's just--"

Hux's low chuckle sends a thrumming vibration through his parted lips. "Honestly, Kylo. You speak of this as if it is an unpleasant thing."

"Well." Kylo buries his face deeper within the mess of Hux's locks. "I'm usually not this . . . . "

_Excited? Aroused? Raging horny? Fucking Christ._

Hux rolls onto his back, tugging the sheets from his body, sprawling in disheveled, naked sin upon Kylo's bed.

"You can have me, you know," Hux says. "Right now, if you like. Just like this." He gazes at Kylo through hooded eyes, slits of blue-green clarity framed by ginger lashes.

Kylo has climbed atop him before he can stop himself, has palmed a hasty portion of oil to slicken his arousal with an impatient hand. A leg slides up his side, one ankle resting upon his shoulder, the other soon following, an impish grin curving the edges of Hux's mouth.

"Go on." He nudges Kylo's hips with his own. "Take advantage of my flexibility."

A shiver courses through him as he grips Hux's slender hips within his sword-roughened hands and sinks himself deep within the tight heat of the other man's body, a short gasp escaping him when Hux lifts his hips further into the action, sending him deeper still.

He leans over, planting his hands upon the pillow, marveling as Hux's body simply bends itself to his whims. Quite literally. Hands cup his face and Hux cranes his neck to capture his lips, a gesture that half-swallows Kylo's shallow pants and transforms them into a low, languid groan.

No matter how he bends or stretches the lean muscle of the dancer's legs, the other man simply complies, his body a pliant instrument within Kylo's capable grasp, his short bursts of shivering breath eliciting spine-tracing shudders from Kylo's body. He palms Hux's hardness with his well-oiled fingers and twists his grip in counterpoint with the thrust of his hips until Hux's breathing begins to morph into something vocal and desperate.

The muscles of Kylo's shoulders bunch as he struggles to maintain a one-handed balance in the wake of observing Hux's release, the parting of his lips, the flush of his skin, the way his body arches into Kylo's every movement, but it is the whispering breathlessness of his name from Hux's lips that sends him toppling over the edge. It is a delicate, plaintive sound, a plea and an ardent sigh of relief in the same breath. And it is his violent and convulsive undoing.

Kylo collapses beside his companion, draws him into his embrace, melds the sticky heat of their bodies together, kisses the damp skin of Hux's neck with a gentle press of lips. The crisp scent of Hux's skin is an intoxicant that he cannot draw deeply enough into his lungs, the perfection of the other man's body fitting against his own a sensation he cannot relinquish.

"I need a shower," Kylo murmurs. He runs his hand along the length of Hux's side. "Wanna join me?"

"Of course not," Hux says. He mimics Kylo's gesture, his fingers traveling over his torso and up his chest. "An invitation to run my hands over your wet, naked flesh?" He flashes Kylo a wicked smile. "How absolutely vile."

Kylo smirks. "Didn't think you'd be into it." He slides his hand lower, squeezes the pert musculature of Hux's backside with a definitive grip.

"How dare you," Hux half-purrs near his ear.

The other man's hand lands flat upon Kylo's ass with a sharp, decisive smack and Kylo chuckles. Fingers travel, giveing his backside a thorough, massaging exploration.

"Dear me, you're quite firm. I hadn't the faintest idea that swinging a sword for hours could result in such a thing," Hux remarks, earning him a more hearty laugh from Kylo.

"There's more to it than that," Kylo says.

"Obviously," Hux says. He props himself up on one elbow and runs his free hand through Kylo's unbound hair, hooking it behind on ear and tracing the contour of his jaw. "I would very much like to see just you do with that sword."

A nefarious smirk lifts one side of Kylo's mouth. "Haven't had enough of my sword yet?"

Hux groans with an exaggerated sound of exasperation. "Good _lord._ " He pushes at Kylo's chest and purses his lips to contain a smile when the other man's body does not so much as move. "Like shoving a blasted bookcase."

Despite his best efforts, the smile breaks free and Kylo tilts his head, marveling at the transformation such a simple gesture can impart. The stoic, staunchly-postured dancer has receded, leaving behind a glowing rendition of a far freer spirit. With his wildly disheveled hair and freckle-dusted skin, Hux looks more the part of some kind of Celtic imp rather than a serious student of the arts.

"What is it?" Hux asks, brow knitting just a touch.

"Nothing," Kylo says. He slides closer to his companion, runs his fingers through the mess of fiery hair. "Maybe I just like looking at you." He slips his arms around Hux's shoulders, pulling him atop his chest and teasing his lips apart with a searching kiss until a small, plaintive sound ebbs from Hux's throat. "Come on," he murmurs against the other man's mouth as he tugs him into a sitting position. "Make me wet."

"Oh, for god's sake, Kylo," the dancer groans with such acute exasperation that Kylo laughs.

Hux pauses before attempting to get to his feet, as if he must do so with care.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" Kylo asks, brow knitting with concern.

"Not at all," Hux says. He glances up at Kylo through a fringe of ginger lashes and adds, "But you did do a fine job of making it so that I do not wish to get out of this bed."

"Hmmn, is that right?" Kylo leans over the mattress, slips his arms beneath Hux's pale body, and sweeps him from the sheets as if he weighs nothing at all. Hux's breathless gasp is far more telling than any words could be, his arms draping Kylo's broad shoulders.

"Brute," Hux says.

"Diva," Kylo replies.

He carts his disheveled prize into the bathroom which boasts only a small shower, but Hux does not seem to mind the tight fit. Instead, he runs his hands over the slick heat of Kylo's body with slow, appreciative fingers while Kylo massages his shoulders with soapy hands until the dancer leans against the tile with a groan.

"Sore?" Kylo rumbles near his ear.

"Everywhere," Hux murmurs.

Kylo turns up the heat of the water just a touch and takes his time, running his hands down Hux's sides and kneading the muscles of his back, smiling when the other man favors switching his lean to Kylo's body rather than the wall.

"You're quite good at that," Hux says.

"Pressure points." Kylo presses a thumb just to the left of Hux's shoulder blade and the dancer nearly sags in his embrace.

"Japanese voodoo," Hux mumbles.

"Something like that."

It isn't until the water begins to cool that Kylo tends to his own needs, giving himself a thorough, brisk soaping, pausing only when Hux grasps his hands and holds them at bay.

"Let me see to that hair of yours," the dancer says.

Kylo does not protest as Hux gives him a scalp-massaging shampoo job, taking care to keep the soap from his eyes, the warm heat of his body pressed against Kylo's torso.

"I've never cared for long hair before," Hux says as he tips Kylo's head back to rinse the shampoo away. "But I quite fancy it on you. Very much so, in fact."

"I look weird with short hair," Kylo says as Hux squeezes the last of the soap from his locks.

"Weird?" The dancer wrinkles his nose. "What on Earth do you mean?"

Kylo twists the knob of the shower until the water ceases to flow and slicks his hair from his face with one hand in an indicative fashion.

"And?" Hux arches an eyebrow.

"Ears," Kylo prompts.

"Yes, you have two of them," Hux agrees. As if he doesn't get it.

The hand drops and Kylo smirks. "Nice of you to humor me."

"I never 'humor' anyone," Hux informs him. "Now, hand me that towel, if you please."

Reaching for the rectangle dangling over the edge of the shower door, Kylo drapes the fabric around Hux's shoulders, cinching it tight and pulling Hux close to his body for a moment before sliding the glass door open and stepping onto the bathmat to retrieve a towel for himself.

"I might have to borrow one of your shirts again," Hux says as he pats his hair dry with the terry cloth.

The edge of Kylo's mouth twitches into a smile. "What a shame."

 

_____________________________________________

 

Hux's gaze lingers upon the loose-fitting pants, which hang dangerously low on Kylo's hips. Did the man not own any properly fitting clothing? The dancer secretly hopes not.

"You want something to eat?" Kylo asks as he combs his damp waves into submission with a short-bristled brush.

 _I want **you,**_ Hux thinks to himself. _Raw, fresh, and naked atop of me._

_Again._

Heat suffuses his body and he combs his own locks away from his face with a wayward splaying of fingers. "I would like that," he says at last.

The mirror showcases Kylo's crooked rendition of a smile as he sets the brush down. "Guess you want protein and not pancakes."

Hux shrugs a shoulder. "I would eat pancakes."

Kylo saunters towards him, slipping an arm around his waist and pulling him close. He tugs at the collar of the borrowed shirt and steals a kiss from Hux's lips. "I like you in my clothes."

One finger slips beneath the waistband of Kylo's pants and runs the length of the elastic with a suggestive pull. "And I quite fancy you without them."

Kylo nips at his ear and nuzzles his damp hair. "Dirty."

"Completely," Hux agrees.

"Hmm," Kylo rumbles as he slips a hand beneath the hem of the shirt to squeeze Hux's backside. "Lucky me." The hand slides to his hip before dropping away, the calloused pads of Kylo's fingers a shiver-inducing counterpoint to his soft skin.

He watches as Kylo walks away, the natural shifting slink of his hips an absurdly mesmerizing event. The man is like some great panther prowling the hall of his apartment. Hux exhales a tight breath he did not realize he had been holding and straightens himself, preparing to follow in Kylo's wake, that is until the other man stiffens to a halt, one hand lifting in a hesitant waver of fingers.

A sharp, wrenching sneeze echoes through the small corridor and Kylo's broad shoulders flinch into a shudder that sets Hux's anxiety to full alert status.

"Sorry," Kylo says. "Hot shower. Cold hallway."

"Or perhaps you should not go about in this weather with wet hair," Hux says.

The other man glances over his shoulder with a chuckle. "You serious?"

Hux stiffens. "Of course I am. It's a fine way to catch a cold."

Good lord, was that his mother speaking yet again? He huffs a sigh as Kylo retraces his steps and comes to stand before him, running those large hands along the sides of his arms.

"That's antiquated bullshit," he says. He kisses the tip of Hux's nose. "But it's cute antiquated bullshit."

"I would feel much better if you would at least attempt to towel dry that mess of yours," Hux insists.

" _Your_ hair is wet," Kylo reminds him, tweaking a damp ginger lock between his fingers.

"Ugh, unhand me," Hux grumbles. But he slides his arms around Kylo's neck just the same.

"Better let go," Kylo murmurs. "Or you'll never get any breakfast."

Hands settle upon his waist as if they might engulf him and Hux rises to the tips of his toes to plant a kiss on the side of Kylo's mouth. "I suppose I shall leave you to it, then."

The hands slide away, but their warmth lingers upon his skin. Hux suppresses a shiver as he pads into the kitchen and plops himself on the nearest barstool, watching as Kylo preps the ingredients with an ease that is both quick and masterful.

"You sure I can feed you pancakes?"

Hux nods. "I usually eat something with a bit more carbohydrates the day of a show."

His diet has been lacking in nearly every way the past week. A little more indulgence certainly will not harm him.

"I'm guessing you don't have breakfast like this too often," Kylo says.

"Never" might be a more accurate statement.

"No," Hux agrees.

"Well." Kylo sets the spatula near the bowl of batter. "This isn't a bunch of refined crap, anyway. It's arrowroot powder with coconut flour. Low glycemic index. Good for energy."

Hux's gaze roves over the taut, tattooed musculature of Kylo's arms and shoulders with a lingering appreciation. "As if you need to worry over a bit of refined carbohydrate."

The other man glances over his shoulder, damp hair falling across one eye. "And you do?"

"One wouldn't think as much," Hux says. "But dancing as I do requires a very specific type of diet in order to maintain my stamina."

Kylo spoons the batter onto the griddle with lazy precision, as if he has managed such a thing countless times before. "You say that like you don't eat to enjoy it."

A wry laugh escapes the dancer as he runs a hand through his still-drying hair. "That is because I do not. And besides, I haven't the time to prepare anything complex."

Although, he suspected Kylo had already gathered as much, given the contents of his fridge. A daily regimen of vegetables and pre-cooked chicken has become the norm for him over the past several years. Easy. Convenient. Efficient. As was most of this life, really. Every day, every hour, all planned around dancing. Such as it had been for the past 21 years and such as it would continue to be until--

A hand lights upon his wrist and she snaps out of his contemplation. "My apologies," he says. "I was thinking about . . . " His words trail into silence as he lifts his gaze to Kylo's own, the solemn, dark eyes warmed with concern. "Ah, well." He lays a hand atop Kylo's wrist and offers him a small smile. "I seem to have forgotten."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo thinks he's good at hiding things. He's not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thank you all SO MUCH for all of your love and support with this fic!! And I just have FREAK OUT A LITTLE at [THIS ART](http://jeusus.tumblr.com/post/149714826593/crackedverbositys-swords-and-slippers-au) by Jeusus on Tumblr because she is a TERRIBLE enabler and I love it so much.
> 
> Also? My family is doing much better now. :) We've started to rebuild and things are very slowly going back to (ab)normal! Thank you for your kind words and support! Now? Enjoy this cheese. I dedicate this chapter to LittlestStarFighter and Geist_Ostracized because of reasons.

He comes to every performance. Sometimes, he lingers in a space just shy of the packed auditorium's seats, others he simply appears in the corridors of backstage area. Hux does not ask how he manages to bypass security. He is there for every ending, every curtain call. Every aftermath. There are flowers, blue tulips one night, dark purple calla lilies the next, never anything traditional or expected. But most importantly, he brings his presence, a thing which Hux treasures more than any flower.

Nights are often spent in the throes of heated, passionate coupling, leaving them both spent and languid, Kylo's hands spread warm and encompassing across Hux's back, cradling him close as if he is a rare and precious thing, something to be coveted. Protected. While Hux has always valued his personal space, he is suddenly quite willing to invite this man into it, to press himself against Kylo's body, run his fingers through the thick silk of his hair, to marvel at the way his features soften into a strange innocence as he sleeps.

With a two week break between preparation for the next show, Hux allows himself the luxury of a stillness he has never felt before, a comfortable silence that does not require speech or activity. Sitting next to Kylo upon the couch whilst reading a book is enough.

It is late one evening when Kylo returns to Hux's apartment that he first notices that something is amiss, not by Kylo's words, but more so by his posture. The curve of his broad shoulders has a slight slump, the usual haphazard gathering of his hair partially falling from the tie that holds it, the shadows beneath his eyes guarded and weary.

Hux sets his tea aside and stands, setting a disgruntled Millicent upon the back of the couch, a couch which is now decorated a very specific pink and orange throw.

Rather than invade his partner's space, hesitation stills his desire and he waits.

"How was class?" Hux asks.

"Okay," Kylo says. "Lots of kids out, though. Some kind of crap going around, I guess."

"Well," Hux says. "It is the season for it."

He watches as Kylo sets the bag of weapons down beside the door and pulls his hair loose from the confines of the make-shift knot near the back of his head. Even his movements are slower somehow, as if he does not have the energy for even a simple task. The other man combs his fingers through his hair for a moment before flicking his gaze to Hux.

"I . . . might have to go see my mom next week," he says.

As if this is a dreaded thing. Something torturous. Hux waits. It is the first time Kylo has mentioned his family. It is only when Kylo seems at a loss for continuation that Hux speaks.

"Where does your mother live?" he asks. It is a mundane question, an easy one.

"Not far," Kylo says. "About 3 hours away. I usually take the train. Better than driving. And it's kind of a nice trip. Scenic. Quiet." He catches and holds Hux's stare, something guarded and yet vulnerable written in his dark eyes. "Ever been up that way?"

"No," Hux says. He steps closer, rests a tentative hand upon Kylo's wrist. "But if you would like to show me . . ."

Sword-roughened fingers caress his own. "What about your routine?"

Hux wrinkles his nose. "You mean the part where I sit upon this couch and force myself to rest? Surely I cannot interrupt such a thing."

Kylo chuckles, a half-hearted and almost bleak sound. "You're not going to just sit there. I know you."

"True," Hux says. He pushes aside a lock of Kylo's dark hair and hooks it behind his ear. "But I am perfectly capable of exercising just about anywhere."

Kylo averts his gaze. "Well, I'm . . ."

Hux slips a finger beneath his chin, brings the uncertainty of Kylo's stare back to his. "If you have need of me, I will go. You needn't explain yourself or the situation. Simply ask."

The weary shadows of Kylo's face draw into a smile that softens the edges of his features. "Okay," he says. Fingers lace through his own. "You want something to eat?"

"You spoil me," Hux says. He brings Kylo's hand to lips and brushes a kiss atop his knuckles. "But let me treat you to something instead. Would you fancy some sushi? There's a wonderful little place just around the corner. I will fetch it for us."

Kylo squeezes his hands. "Yeah, I'd like that."

Hux ushers him to the couch where a very eager Millicent promptly makes herself at home in his lap, paws kneading the thin material of his long sleeved t-shirt.

"No one's been giving you attention, huh?" Kylo croons as the adoring feline climbs his chest to shove her head beneath his chin. "Yeah, I bet."

"She absolutely has not been curled upon my person for the better part of three hours," Hux says.

"Didn't figure." Kylo scratches the cat just beneath her jaw. "You're a terrible dad."

"I realize this," Hux says.

He swipes his phone from the counter and places the order before joining Kylo on the couch, noting with a smirk that Millicent does not remove herself from Kylo's body. Instead, she settles into his lap and allows the other man to stroke her belly without so much as threatening to remove one of his fingers. Well, would wonders never cease.

"I assume you can keep her company while I procure our food, then?" Hux flicks at the tabby's tail with one finger and she offers him a swat in return. "Unless you would care to take a walk."

"A walk actually sounds nice," Kylo says. "Sitting in traffic to drive ten blocks was stupid."

Hux chuckles. "Now, you know why I walk home from the studio."

"Hard to do that with a bag of swords," Kylo says.

"Point taken." Hux pats his thigh. "No pun intended, of course. Well, come on, then. By the time we walk there, they will have it ready. They're quite fast."

Kylo rises from the couch despite the protests of the orange ball of fur doing her best to half-climb him and follows Hux to the door, reaching for the handle.

The dancer arches an eyebrow and points to the rack beside the door. "Jacket, Kylo."

"It's like, two blocks," the other man says.

"And it is also forty degrees outside," Hux says as he shrugs the gray wool of his long coat over his shoulders and casts his companion a withering look. "Humor me, would you?"

"Okay, Mom," Kylo says with a smirk. But he reaches for the jacket anyway.

 

* * *

 

 

 

The wind is a bracing chill as they step onto the sidewalk, the streetlights just beginning to flicker to life, the increasing congestion of neighborhood traffic a noisy backdrop that Hux has grown used to during his many years of city life. The excitement of the ballet and the bustle of the city are certainly stimulating, but the cramped lifestyle of apartment living is sometimes a stifling convenience.

"I keep promising myself a quiet life in the country once I have retired," Hux remarks as the doors to his building slide shut behind them. "But I have grown used to having all that need within my reach, I am not certain I could stand being away from it.

He glances to his right just in time to witness Kylo half-muffling a sneeze, which should be nothing unusual by now, at least according to the other man. But Hux does not miss the weary slump of his shoulders, as if the effort has been far more taxing this time.

_Hmn, well._

"Sorry," Kylo mumbles with a sniff. "Hot to cold. You know the drill." Another short gasp escapes him before he catches a second sneeze in the crook of his elbow. And another. "Well, damn."

"Bless you," Hux says. One ginger eyebrow arches in suspicion. "Are you certain it merely the temperature?"

The other man chuckles. "You say that every time."

"Do I?" A quirk of sneer curves his lip. "Perhaps I have become my mother."

Kylo's hand nudges his own and Hux laces his gloved fingers through it without thought, as if the action is natural. Normal.

"You get that hair of yours from her side?"

Hux purses his lips a moment before replying. "No," he says. "Unfortunately not."

Just as Kylo seems reluctant to broach the subject of his mother, Hux has little desire to speak of his father. The piggish sloth of a man has been blissfully absent from his life the past several years and he would very much like to keep it as such.

Well, for most of his life, really.

"Hey."

Kylo's dark voice near his ear, a squeeze of his gloved palm. Hux snaps out of his thousand-yard stare into the fading light of day and slides his gaze to the other man.

"My apologies," Hux says. "I just . . . do not think of him often."

"It's fine," Kylo says. The fingers unlace from his own and an arm drapes his shoulder as they approach the brightly lit restaurant near the corner. "You know my friend owns this place, right?"

Hux blinks. "What?"

"Well, his parents own it," Kylo amends as he reaches for the door handle. "But it's pretty much his. Just figured I should warn you."

"Warn me?" Hux arches an eyebrow. "Whatever for?"

"Mmn, well." Kylo runs a hand through his unbound hair. "Poe can be a little . . enthusiastic."

The eyebrow arches higher. What a strangely foreboding thing to say about one's friend. And besides, Hux has been to this place dozens of times and has never seen any indication of any overly gregarious staff members.

As Hux approaches the bar to collect their order, the familiar face of the bartender greets him, all smiles and pleasantries as usual. That is, until he catches a glimpse of Kylo.

"Hey, Kylo! What are you doing here, buddy?!"

Before Hux can so much as blink, the man hops over the short door that separates the bar from the dining area and wastes no time in clapping Kylo on the back as he embraces him.

"Can't a guy grab some dinner without all this crap?" Kylo teases the shorter man, who gives him a playful punch in the shoulder.

"Nobody told me you'd called something in!" The man pauses, tosses a glance at Hux, takes a step back, and gives him a more thorough visual assessment. As if he is being inspected.

_Oh, joy._

"Oooh," the bartender says. "Is this him?"

  _Him? Him who?_ Hux wrinkles his nose. _Why, the nerve . . ._

A grin spreads over the man's lips and he offers his hand to Hux. "Poe," he says. "Poe Dameron."

Hux slips a reluctant hand into the now-named Poe's grip and does his best to keep a steady stance when the other man nearly shakes his forearm off with his enthusiastic greeting.

"Brendol Hux," he says.

"Yeah, I know you," Poe says. "Tuna and avocado, no rice, every other Monday."

My goodness, is he so predictable? Either that or this man has an unnervingly good memory.

"That would be me, I suppose," Hux admits, a hint of a smile curving his mouth.

"I thought it was weird that you'd tacked on all kinds of fancy shit to your usual," Poe says with a wink. "Figured you might have a hot date."

Hux stiffens just a touch and Kylo chuckles beside him.

"I'll be right back," Kylo says.

Hux grabs at his collars and tugs him down to eye-level. "Do not leave me here with this man," he murmurs through smile-gritted teeth.

"You'll be fine," Kylo assures him.

 _The smirking bastard._ Hux makes mental a note to find a way to see to it that his tormentor suffers for this indiscretion later. Perhaps a certain pair of tight black shorts . . .

As Kylo slips off towards the alcove designated as the restroom, Hux casts Poe what he hopes is at least a congenial expression and not a look of tight-lipped discomfort. He fishes his wallet from the pocket of his coat, but Poe stills the motion of his hand.

"No way," he says. "It's on the house." He flashes Hux a wide grin. "But let him think you paid, anyway."

The tension in Hux's shoulders begins to unravel as he follows Poe to the bar to retrieve his order. "Very kind of you."

"No problem," Poe says. "But listen, I need a favor, okay?"

Oh gods. Was this the part where the man delivered a speech on Kylo's virtues and asked that Hux tend to them properly or else?

"Yes?" Hux says after some hesitation.

"One sec." Poe vanishes into the kitchen for a moment and returns with a quart of soup and several packets of tea embossed in Japanese. "Give him some of this." He sets the packets upon the counter and taps them with one finger. "And make him drink one of these when he goes to bed and then again when he wakes up."

Hux's brow furrows and Poe leans across the bar with a conspiratory cupping of his hand over his mouth. "He's coming down with some crap. We've been passing it around the damn dojo for a couple of weeks now, but he's not gonna tell you that. And do yourself a favor and drink some of that tea yourself. Trust me."

"I knew it," Hux mutters under his breath before he can stop himself.

"Yeah, he's pretty obvious," Poe says with a chuckle. "Thinks he's some slick shit, but he isn't." A hand closes over his wrist and Hux resists the urge to snatch it from the bar. "Kylo's a good man. Too good. You pickin' up what I'm puttin' down, buddy?"

_And there it was. Naturally._

Hux levels the other man with an unflinching stare and leans across the bar, voice lowering. "If this is the point where you proceed to engage in the 'best friend ritual' of threatening me, you needn't bother. I have no need to explain myself to you, but I am fond of Kylo." He slips hand out from beneath Poe's own and spreads his fingers atop Poe's wrist with a clench. "Very fond. And I am not easily intimidated by words or otherwise." He retracts his grip and eyes the other man with a slow tilt of his head. "Do we understand each other?"

Poe regards him with a stare that belies his jovial nature, but it is not contempt that shades his gaze. No, that would be a strange glimmer of respect.

"I think we just might," Poe says as he pushes the bags across the counter.

"Very well, then."

Hux had just begun to slip the handle over his forearm when Kylo returns, the low light of the restaurant's atmosphere turning the contrast of his dark hair and fair skin to sharp, mysterious angles as he steps from the shadows.  It is not until he moves closer that Hux notices the fresh tinge of pink that edges his nose, a matching shade to the one than rims his dark eyes. He flicks a knowing glance to Poe, who shrugs as if he has seen this same routine far too many times to count.

"You ready?" Kylo asks.

"Very," Hux says.

Kylo casts a glance at his friend, who has taken to wiping down the bar beside the register. "You didn't threaten him, did you?"

Poe shakes his head. "Didn't have to. See you on the mat, buddy."

"See you," Kylo says.

"Yep. Get out." Poe flicks the towel in Kylo's direction and the other man dodges the advance with a quick turn to the left before flipping his friend a not-so-subtle middle finger.

What a very odd relationship. Then again, Hux has come to expect nothing less. Once outside of the restaurant, Hux sets the bags down for a moment to don his gloves.

"Interesting friend you have there," he remarks as he tugs the supple leather over his fingers.

"Yeah," Kylo says. "He's definitely something else. Known him for a good ten ye. . ."

The words trail into a stammering hitch of breath, and Kylo stiffens, one hand hovering near his face before succumbing to the sneeze with a violent shudder of shoulders.

"Ah, Kylo . . ." Hux heaves a heavy sigh before sifting through the pocket of his coat and coming up with a crisply folded square of white, which he holds out to the other man between gloved fingers. "Bless you. Here."

The space between his eyebrows knits as Kylo flicks his gaze first to the handkerchief and then to Hux, as if the gesture is foreign. Confusing. Dear gods, had the man never seen one before?

"Take it," Hux says, flicking his wrist in a prompting fashion.

"I . . ." Fingers close over his own and Hux could swear the wind-pinkened coloration of Kylo's cheeks deepens just a touch. "Thank you."

"Of course." Hux waves a hand. "Tissues are useless, vile things, especially where sneezing is concerned." Concern creases his brow as Kylo muffles another sneeze into the confines of the cloth, a weary sigh trailing in its wake. "Alright," Hux says at last. "You are done blaming this on the weather. I hope you realize I will commence to ignoring you at this point, should you attempt to convince me otherwise."

"Hmn, well." Kylo brushes at his nose with the corner of the handkerchief before slipping it into the back pocket of his leather pants. "It might be something else."

Hux feigns astonishment. "You think so?"

His companion laughs, a hoarse, rough sound that is only barely reminiscent of his usual dark voice and Hux turns to drape his arms around Kylo's neck, smiling when hands light upon his waist and squeeze.

"Come on, then," he says. "Regardless of the reason, this wind cannot be good for you."

"You should probably just let me go back home by myself after we eat," Kylo says. "I mean, you just got over the flu a few weeks ago. If you catch--"

Hux presses a finger to his lips. "Need I remind you of our activities this morning? I dare say I am already contaminated by whatever plague you might be nursing, so it's a bit late for that." He hooks a stray lock of hair behind Kylo's ear. "Now, do _not_ argue with me."

Their foreheads touch and a hand cups his cheek.

"Bossy," Kylo says.

Hux presses a kiss to the side of his mouth. "You haven't the faintest idea."

* * *

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Care-taking and confessions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm fast approaching the part I've been putting off, so enjoy the sweetness while you can! Also, check out the amazing art by Geist-Ostracized on Tumblr that makes my heart do the dance of joy every time I see it! It's at the end of this chapter and is from the chapter before this one, but I wanted to post it here. Uuugggh, I can't even handle it!

By the time Hux turns the key to open the door to his apartment, Kylo has had enough of the wind. And the cold. And the stinging prickle that assaults his sinuses each time the temperature fluctuates or the urge to cough that seizes him whenever he mistakenly takes a breath too quickly.

But he does not tire of Hux's hand splaying between his shoulder blades, rubbing absent, soothing circles upon his back or the touch of Hux's fingers upon his arm when he pauses and turns away so as not to further expose his companion to whatever has stricken him.

He halts mid-stride on his way to the couch and muffles a sneeze into the cloth, a quiet cough trailing in its wake and Hux's brow knits with concern, the hand lighting upon his shoulder this time and trailing the length of his upper arm.

"Bless you," Hux says. "Now, sit down and occupy that attention-grubbing feline of mine before she attempts to steal this entire bag of sushi."

Kylo sinks down onto the couch and is promptly assaulted by a bundle of orange and white stripes who is more than a little intent on rubbing her scent over every viable inch of his clothing. " _This_ cat?" Kylo scratches her just beneath the chin, smirking when the tip of her tail begins to quiver. "She wouldn't do that."

"Hmph." Hux sets the bags upon the counter and begin to unpack them. "You gravely underestimate her, my dear."

He leans against the couch with a sigh as Millicent climbs his torso, half-stretching herself upon his chest and shoving her head beneath his chin will a trilling meow.

"Don't listen to him," Kylo says as he runs a hand along the length of her back. "I'll share my tuna."

"Fear not," Hux says. "I got Her Majesty a bit of sashimi."

"Heh, of course you did," Kylo said as the cat bumps noses with him. "She's a very spoiled girl."

"No thanks to you," Hux reminds him. He taps the ceramic dish upon the counter with the tip of one finger and the cat bolts from Kylo's arms and into the kitchen before he can so much as blink.

"A very fickle girl, too," he adds.

A hand brushes his shoulder and he glances back to find Hux standing behind him, a mug of something hot in his free hand.

"Your friend sent this soup for you," he said.

He offers the mug complete with spoon to Kylo, who takes it with a sniffle.

"I'm that obvious, huh."

The hand pats his back. "Quite."

Kylo takes his time with the soup, a spicy variant of traditional miso that does a fine job of clearing his sinuses and soothing his throat while Hux plates the array of sushi and returns to the couch to sit beside him, two pairs of bamboo chopsticks between his fingers.

"Wow," Kylo says as he eyes the plentiful plate of rolls and sashimi.

Hux's smile is a somewhat sheepish rendition of his usual expression. "I did not know what you might like, so I ordered a bit of everything."

"It's fine," Kylo assures him. "I eat anything."

"Really?" Hux arches an eyebrow. "I never would have guessed."

They take turns eating from the platter, sampling everything from fatty tuna crusted in a wasabi-laced infusion of sauce to thin slices of octopus until all that remains are a few grains of rice. Kylo moves to cart the dishes into the kitchen, but the gentle pressure of Hux's hand upon his thigh stills the motion.

"I will tend to it," he says.

"I don't feel that bad, you know," Kylo informs him.

"Perhaps not," Hux says. He gives Kylo's leg a squeeze. "But humor me just the same."

Kylo sits back against the arm of the couch with a well-timed sniffle and runs a hand through his hair. "Okay."

Warmth tinges Hux's gaze as he takes the now-empty mug from between Kylo's hands. "I shall be right back with some tea."

True to his word, Hux returns a few minutes later with a fresh mug of steaming liquid, a pungent, earthy aroma that Kylo recognizes all too well.

"Poe gave you this, huh," he says as Hux offers him the mug. He eyes the tea a moment before flicking his gaze back to Hux as he take a long sip. "You know this stuff knocks you on your ass about 10 minutes after you drink it."

"I hadn't the faintest idea what type of Japanese mysticism your friend imparted to me, but he did say that it would help you," Hux's voice gentles as he brushes a stray lock of hair behind Kylo's ear. "And a bit of rest would not be so terrible, would it? I realize that it is still quite early, but perhaps we could lie down together for a time? Even if you do not sleep, the rest will be good for us both."

Kylo does not argue, nor does he mention that he doesn't really need the tea to boost his fatigue. The day has been a taxing event for reasons unrelated to his cold. Instead, he sniffles and merely nods, rising to his feet to follow Hux into the now-familiar bedroom, tea in hand.

Despite the stiffness of the apartment's decor, the bed is another story. Although the frame itself is simple, the mattress is plush and supportive. No springs to dig into hips, no squeaking to disrupt his sleep. Hux has probably spent a small fortune on the thing, but Kylo is more than grateful for the comfort of it as he strips himself of all but his boxers and climbs into bed beside his companion, who has, of course, donned a pair of blue and white striped pajamas.

Before Kylo can manage to make himself comfortable, he muffles an ill-timed sneeze into the crook of his elbow and pauses to scour the pockets of his discarded pants for the handkerchief. Once he manages to yank the thing free, he eases himself onto the mattress with a soft groan and Hux edges closer, one finger tracing the line of his jaw.

"Look at you," Hux murmurs, sifting a hand through Kylo's dark locks. "I have never seen a man capable of being so pathetic yet endearing."

"Well. . . " Kylo rubs at the corner of one watery eye with a knuckled finger and clears his throat. "I'm not doing it on purpose."

_Not much . . ._

"Hmph." Hux settles himself against the mountain of pillows and motions to Kylo with a crooking of fingers. "Come hither, then."

Kylo chuckles. "What is it with you and that damn antiquated language?"

Which he loves. Everything about Hux is prim perfection from his posture to his polite mannerisms. Speech is no exception. Elegance and grace with a healthy dose of sass. And some diva-like snobbery thrown into the mix when the need arises.

A hand threads its way through his hair, brushing it away from his eyes and combing a soothing pull through the wind-tousled strands.

"You don't have to fuss over me, you know." Kylo's eyes drift shut as he nestles closer, fingers wrapping around the lapel of Hux's button-down sleep shirt.

"No, but you are enjoying it," Hux counters.

"Mmh-hm,."

Even through the haze of congestion, Hux's scent registers to him, an infusion of freshly showered skin and the faintest hint of the lavender oil he sometimes uses in the bath. Clean. Comforting. Kylo relaxes further into his embrace with a sigh.

"Besides," Hux continues. "I can remember a time in the not-so-distant past where someone cared for me in much the same way."

"Can't believe you're still hung up on that," Kylo murmurs, nuzzling the collar of Hux's pajamas.

A hand rubs at his arm in a fond, absent motion. "It meant a great deal to me." He tugs the sheets over Kylo's shoulders and reaches towards the nightstand to extinguish the lamp. "And if you had not done so, I would not be here with you now in this way."

"You wouldn't have anyone to catsit," Kylo mumbles into his shirt.

"Yes, and what a tragedy that would be," Hux says. "For Millicent, of course." He nudges Kylo with a shift of his hip and the other man chuckles.

"Sure it is." The word has begun to slur as the edges of sleep blur his vision, tongue growing thick and sluggish within his mouth. "Bren?"

"Yes?"

Kylo worries the edge of the lapel with a slow drag of his thumb. "Come with me next week."

The dancer draws him closer, hooks an ankle behind his leg as if to hold him in place. "Of course I will."

Kylo edges closer, sealing what little space remains between their bodies. "Thank you."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The jostling vibration of his phone upon the nightstand rouses him with a start, like some insipid insect struggling to free itself. Hux grunts and gropes for the thing without opening his eyes and fumbles the screen, uncaring of which button he taps. End, answer, speaker. It matters not.

"Armitage?"

A prim, familiar female voice that belies its years crackles over the speaker, which is of course, the icon his flitting fingers have managed to swipe. As always, she has called at an early hour, never at a time that might inconvenience or interrupt his practicing.

"Speaking," he says, as if his own mother cannot possibly fathom who might have answered the phone.

"Yes, dear. I do realize that," the voice says with a light tinkle of laughter.

Behind him, Kylo stirs, nuzzling the soft hairs that edge his neck with a wordless murmur of sound, one arm draping heavily over his side and Hux presses his own body back against his companion with a shifting of shoulders.

"How are you, then?" Hux asks.

"Very well. Did I wake you?"

"Somewhat," Hux answers. "But it does not matter. I take it you made it home safe?"

"Yes. That's why I called, actually. You did ask me to let you know when I arrived."

"Mmm, yes. I remember." Kylo's hand drifts to splay over his stomach and Hux reaches back to run his fingers through the mess of sleep-tousled hair, a gesture which earns him a low purr of appreciation.

"Aren't you going to be late?"

"No," Hux says with a yawn. "We are on a two week break before rehearsals begin for _Romeo and Juliet._ "

"Ah. Well, I shall call you back a bit later. Go back to sleep then, darling."

"Alright, Mother. Speak soon."

"Goodbye, Armitage. Love you."

"Love you, too," Hux says through another yawn as he swipes a random finger across the screen to end the call before tossing the phone back atop the nightstand. Mmn, so sorry, my dear," he say to Kylo. "She always calls quite early."

"Armitage?"

Tension freezes Hux's body into place for a moment. The dark, sonorous resonance of his name in that voice is both startling and strangely pleasing, despite his usual opposition to its usage. "Ah, that. Yes, well . . . Brendol is my middle name, you see. Far easier for a young boy to go by that than 'Armitage.' I am quite certain you can imagine the commentary one would endure for an antiquated name such as that."

"Hmmn." A hand strokes his side, slipping beneath the top of his pajamas to graze the skin beneath it. "Kinda suits you, though. Proper. Stately." A kiss upon the back of his neck. "I like it."

A shiver traces a path down Hux's spine and he offers the other man a soft, self-conscious laugh. "Perhaps I have lost my mind, but my goodness, you sound absurdly sexy in your condition."

"Heh, really?" Kylo rubs a finger beneath his eye and sniffles. "I feel like a fucking Nyquil commercial."

"Well, you sound like quite the scoundrel," Hux assures him. "It's rather alluring."

"Scoundrel, huh." A hand runs the length of his hip and Kylo's nose grazes the shell of his ear. "You want me to rough you up a little, pretty boy?"

Even if Hux were to feign indifference, his body attests otherwise in the most blatant display of arousal it can muster, a fact which Kylo does not miss. Sword-roughened fingers delve into his boxers, wrap around the length of him.

"Oh," Kylo rumbles against his temple. "So you do."

"Fiend," Hux says with a breathless pant.

Clothing is stripped from his body, the warmth of Kylo's naked skin melding with his own as he makes a hapless grab for the bottle of oil upon the nightstand, a bottle which has grown shockingly light in the past few days.

Kylo's free hand takes a moment to give his backside an appreciative rub before he gives one side a possessive squeeze.

"Damn, you have a great ass." A tongue flicks the curve of his ear and Hux gasps when the hand gives him a sharp swat. "You know what you do to me in those little fucking shorts?"

"I might have an ide----- _oooh!_ " Hux's voice trails into tight inhalation as well-oiled fingers slip inside of him.

"Those white tights, too," Kylo purrs. "All that thick, lean muscle on display like that. Sinful." The fingers retract and the slick length of him pushes against Hux's already yielding body. "All those people staring at you. Watching the way your body moves." The hand squeezes and Hux shudders. "But I get to take you home and peel those damn tights off with my teeth."

"A-and then?"

"Then, I fuck you until you scream for me." Kylo's hips thrust against his own. _"Pretty boy."_

Hux grapples for the sheets, arches back against his tormenter. The rough-edged tone of Kylo's voice is like raw silk against his ear, unrefined and somehow perfect in this state. The other man is still speaking, but Hux processes only fragments of sentences.

_My hands . . ._

_. . . . your skin. . ._

_Fucking you. . ._

An explosion of heat blooms within his core and he cries out, his voice seeming to ring from the walls like some glorious operatic farce. _Gods, what would the neighbors think of---_

A second wave cinches him tight, chokes the breath from his lungs for one passion-strangled moment before bleeding out of him in a raw, wordless declaration .

_Let the pretentious snits hear, then._

Somewhere amidst his own release, Kylo has given himself over to the same, for the other man is spent and panting behind him, his arms a loose drape around Hux's lithe body.

Hux turns in his embrace, slides his arms around Kylo's neck, and presses a kiss to his lips.

"You shouldn't . . ." Kylo warns.

"As if I care," Hux says.

He teases the other man's lips apart with his tongue and deepens the kiss into something passionate and sensual, a physical display of appreciation for the other man's prowess through a wordless gesture. The kissing trails into a soft, lingering touch of lips before Hux pulls back enough to cup Kylo's face between his hands, dragging his thumbs over the blades of the other man's cheeks.

"You shall certainly be my undoing," he murmurs, planting a kiss upon the tip of his nose.

"Someone should be," Kylo says. "You pretentious tight ass."

"Ill-mannered barbarian," Hux teases. "How do you feel now, hmm? Any better?"

"Some." The other man curls himself closer, feathers a line of kisses along Hux's collarbone and presses a kiss to the hollow of his throat. "You smell nice."

"Hmph, I do not see how you can smell anything at all in your condition," Hux says.

"My 'condition.' " Kylo chuckles. "You say that like I'm dying."

"Well, then, you pathetic wretch, since you are so obviously awake at this point, would you care to join me for a bit of breakfast? Day off or not, I do have a fitness regimen to maintain and one cannot survive on physical affection alone." He drags his short nails down Kylo's back until the other man shivers. "Although, I am sorely tempted to try it."

"Sweet talker," Kylo says. "Don't tell me you're going to make me breakfast."

"Now, see here. Despite the contents of my fridge, I am capable of making a few things when the occasion calls for it," Hux informs him. "I make quite a decent omelet."

"Yeah?" Kylo nuzzles his ear. "I'd like that."

Hux kisses a cluster of dark markings upon Kylo's shoulder. "You shall have to let me go, then."

Arms tighten around him, the warmth of naked skin pressing an intimate contact against his own. "Okay."

Against his better judgment, the dancer wriggles closer, twining his limbs within the other man's embrace.

"Kylo . . . " Hux murmurs. "You must stop this."

"Actually . . . " A soft pressing of lips to his neck, warm breath tickling his ear. "It's Ben."

Hux clutches at his shoulders with a breathy shudder. "It's been what?"

"No." Kylo chuckles. "My name. Ben. Well, Benjamin."

The dancer leans back enough to glimpse his companion's face, to take in the strange sense of vulnerability that lingers in those dark eyes, as if he has confessed something shameful or off-putting.

"Well, that is a perfectly respectable name," Hux says. "Nothing like 'Armitage,' for god's sake. What on Earth was my mother thinking?" He brushes the backs of his fingers over Kylo's fair cheek. "Tell me, where does Kylo come from?"

"It's a martial artist thing. My grandfather studied a very specialized form of Aikido in Japan at a dojo that went by the name of 'Ren.' I studied with him for a while. It's sort of an honorific name." Kylo catches Hux's hand within his palm and places an absent smattering of kissing atop the knuckles. "I earned it. It means something."

"So, if not Ren . . . Benjamin what, exactly?" Hux asks.

"Organa," Kylo says.

"Goodness, it sounds a bit like royalty," Hux remarks.

"Yeah, I guess." Kylo shrugs a shoulder. "I just would rather not use it." His voice drops into a darker, softer register. "I have reasons."

"Well, I will not pry into your reasoning, but if it is 'Kylo' that you prefer, that is who you are to me," Hux says. "Honestly, if you want the truth of the matter, I am simply known as 'Hux' by most. Only those who are closest to me refer to me as 'Brendol.' " He runs his thumb over Kylo's bottom lip. "Or Bren."

"I like Bren," Kylo says.

Hux captures his lips with a gentle kiss. "I like it when you call me that." He stretches out beside the other man, twining fingers with him in a loose clasping of hands. "This trip of ours to see your mother. How many days should I plan to pack for?"

"Just two," Kylo says. "I've been thinking about it and I might need to go this week instead, though." He rubs a finger over the top of Hux's hand. "You still want to go that early?"

"Of course," Hux says. "Is it something urgent?"

"Hmn, maybe." Kylo grabs at the sheet to cover a cough and clears his throat. "I've got a competition on Saturday. Really want this to be over and done by then."

Kylo does not elaborate. Whatever the reasoning for his reluctance, it is one that he is not willing to discuss at length. Hux does not pressure his companion for details, but rather chooses to change the subject .

"A competition?" Hux repeats. "I don't suppose non-martial artists are allowed to come and watch?"

"Sure you can," Kylo says. "Just didn't think you'd be into it is all."

Hux resists the urge to huff. As if he would be dismissive of such an important thing? Honestly.

"You have come to every performance of mine. What makes you think I have no interest in watching you do the same? It is obviously something that you care deeply about and I would very much like to see you in your element," Hux says.

The corner of Kylo's mouth twitches into a smile. "Okay," he says.

Hux plants a chaste kiss upon his forehead. "You are adorably clueless at times, my dear."

"Not clueless," Kylo says. "Cautious."

"Unnecessary." Hux waves a dismissive hand. "Besides, I know nothing of this sword business of yours. I am interested to learn."

"There you go again." Kylo smirks crookedly, splaying a hand across Hux's lower back. "Talking about my sword."

Hux casts him a withering look, the corner of his lip lifting in a sneer. "Do you _ever_ tire of that absurd joke?"

"I'm very serious about my sword work."

"Oh, _honestly,_ Kylo . . . "

The other man laughs, a low and rumbling sound that curls the edges of Hux's toes. "Weren't you going to make me breakfast?"

"Not if you insist on recanting that horrid joke," Hux says. "You are quite lucky I enjoy your company." He sweeps his gaze over the broad spread of Kylo's shoulders, the thick curves of his chest and the toned sleekness of his stomach. "And I _suppose_ you are rather pleasant to look at as well."

"Eh." Kylo shrugs a shoulder and rolls onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. "I think you've got me beat there."

The heated appreciation that lingers in those dark eyes is enough to bring a rise of color to Hux's cheeks, the slow traveling of the other man's gaze over the planes of his body a near physical sensation.

"Precisely how hungry are you?" Hux asks.

Hands grip his hips, pulling Hux's lithe form atop the expanse of Kylo's body and anchoring him there.

"Very," Kylo says.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux and Kylo arrive at Leia's house where an unexpected guest is waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so I didn't expect this. But then again, I never do. :P Don't let the light-hearted crack fool you for too long. ;)

He has forgotten the way the countryside rolls into slope after slope of forest, patches of gold and red smattering the slow-wilting quilt of greenery against a backdrop of brilliant blue. Endless and inviting, a promise of solitude and silence.

"Kylo?"

A hand lights upon his thigh and Kylo raises his gaze to the man beside him, the man who has come with him, despite the knowledge of what such a thing might entail. Hux sits attentively, head tipped just to one side, a lock of red threatening to obscure an eyebrow. He reaches a hand to tame the displaced strands, smoothing them away from Hux's face, fingers lingering upon his temple and trailing the curve of his jaw before dropping away.

This man is more to him than a mere travel companion in a time of need. _This man is--_

"Sorry," Kylo says. "Just haven't seen the woods in a while."

"Just how long has it been since you have been to see your mother?" Hux asks.

"Maybe a year," Kylo replies.

Or longer.

Fingers lace through his own and squeeze, a wordless reassurance that he does not have to endure this alone. He traces he thumb atop the nearest finger before returning the squeeze.

"Your mother will be glad to see you, then," Hux says.

"Yeah," Kylo agrees. "She will."

And he should have come sooner. Much sooner than this. Leaving had seemed best at the time, but the question of just why he had chosen to do so weighed heavily upon his mind. Every day. Every hour.

"And you are certain I am not intruding?"

Kylo flicks his gaze from the window to Hux's stare, to the brow that is furrowed with concerned, the slight, uncertain frown of his lips, the pinched apprehension of his stare.

"No," Kylo says. "I've told her about you. She's happy that I've got a . . ." His voice trails into uncertain silence.

A smirk curves Hux's lips. "Boyfriend?"

"Yeah," Kylo chuckles.

"I do realize we have not discussed exclusivity and perhaps I am a bit presumptuous, but--"

Grasping the edges of Hux's wool coat, Kylo pulls him into a kiss, silencing the would-be ramble into a soft sound of pliancy. Hux yields to him with a sigh, seeking to deepen the kiss as he catches Kylo's face within his palms.

"There's no one else," Kylo murmurs against Hux's mouth between kisses.

A hand lingers upon his cheek. "Nor for me."

The train jostles to one side, sending Hux half sprawling and Kylo uses the opportunity to pull the dancer into his lap.

"Rough ride," Kylo says.

His hand grazes Hux's hip, stroking the sleekness of his thigh through the thin pants. The man is lean perfection, his lithe musculature evident with his every movement, grace and poise personified.

"Yes, you seem quite perturbed," Hux says with a smirk. He glances at the passing scenery, a strange longing softening his green eyes. "I do wish that this were more than a two day journey. I have not seen foliage such as this in ages."

"Don't know if you could handle my mom for more than a few days," Kylo says. "She's going to be all over this."

"Is she?" Hux chuckles. "Well, I have quite the doting mother myself, so I may surprise you." He drapes an arm around Kylo's neck, sifts his fingers through the dark hair. "Perhaps you would care to meet her upon our return? I do owe her a lunch date."

"Okay," Kylo says.

"Gods, you are the most agreeable man in existence." Hux gives his shoulder a playful swat. "What am I to do with you, hmm?"

The hand upon Hux's thigh travels. "I could think of a few a things."

Hux nuzzle his ear, flicks his tongue over the shell. "Savage."

The train slows to halt and both Kylo and his companion disembark and obtain a cab without incident, trekking through a good twenty miles or so of heavily wooded roads and scenic familiarity before climbing the winding road that leads to his mother's house.

There are no neighbors, no others to intrude upon this space, no shopping malls or stores within a block's walk. There is only the rustle of many leaves, the open space that dips into the valley below and showcases the rolling hills beyond.

And of course, the house itself.

It is as he remembered, walls of glass work between beams of dark wood, the edges of which jut out over the side of the hillside as if it is part of the earth itself, an intricate window into one's natural surroundings. The house is a prism of clarity that reflects the mid-morning sun with a piercing sheen, more glass than wood, a delicate deception of architectural strength amongst soft, fading greenery and encroaching shades of autumn.

Behind him, Hux comes to an abrupt halt, lips parting with a soft gasp.

"What?" Kylo says.

 _"What?"_ Hux gestures to the glass structure carved into scenery with a huff. " _This_ is where you live and you ask me what I might be gawking at in such a fashion? Honestly, Kylo."

A low chuckle rumbles from his throat. "It's pretty cool, huh."

Hux snorts. "That is putting it in the mildest of terms."

Atop the sloping curve of stone steps stands a familiar figure, waiting as she has waited, the eagerness of her smile held in careful repose, a simple tunic-style shirt draping her body, hair pinned away from her face.

"Still wearing that same jacket, I see," she says.

A smile quirks one side of Kylo's mouth. "You cut your hair."

One hand smooths the side of the graying locks. "My hair? Oh, no. It's just a hair clip."

He sets his bags down and moves to embrace her, spans the space between her shoulders with one hand. Has she grown slighter since their last visit or has it been so long that he cannot remember the proportions of her body in relation to his own? But the scent of her hair is the same as it has always been, a faint hint of sunflower mixed with earthier things, the softness of her clothing oddly familiar. For a moment, his fingers cinch the material tight.

"I've missed you, son" she says.

His embrace tightens with a wordless murmur of agreement before he steps away, extending a hand to his companion who has kept a polite distance from the reunion. The fingers that slip into his grasp are warm, reassuring. He manages a gentle squeeze of the other man's hand as Hux comes to stand beside him.

"Mom, this is Brendol."

The dancer offers his hand with a smile that is both cordial and genuine. "A pleasure," he says.

His mother grips the hand with a firm clasping of fingers. "Leia," she says. "None of that Ms. Organa crap that Kylo's about to say."

"I wasn't---" Kylo begins and shakes his head. "Okay, I was.

Leia gestures towards the door with a flick of her wrist. "Well, don't just stand there. Come on in and make yourselves at home. I made way too much food for one person."

"You didn't have to cook," Kylo says.

Leia swats his unbound hair. "Like I'd listen to you, kid."

As Hux bends to pick up his bag, Leia grasps Kylo's wrist with a staying motion, dark eyes suddenly serious. "Ben," she says. "There's something I should tell you about--"

The door creaks open and Kylo's attention is diverted from his mother's insistent gaze to the top of the stairs. Framed in the doorway stands an impossibly familiar silhouette, the hair having grown longer, bound away from a clean-shaven face that while weathered with the creases of time seems somehow as ageless as the last time Kylo has looked upon it.

Beside him, Hux straightens, voice pitched low. "I thought you said your father was . . . "

Kylo's gaze is a deceptive focus belied only by the slight tremble of his fingers. "That's not my father."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hux moves to stand beside Leia as Kylo drops his bags and take a dazed step towards the man standing at the top of the stairs, movements slow and almost hesitant, as if he must cajole his body into compliance with each step.

"Well, don't just stand there gawking, boy," the man says. "Either hug me or bow."

Kylo chooses the first and the man gathers him into a firm, cinching embrace, an impressive length of braided hair sliding over his shoulder, grey mixed with lingering hints of dirty blond.

"Where have you been?" Kylo mumbles into his---Hux squints---were those _robes?_

"You know where I've been," the man says. "Just decided to come back for a visit is all." He grasps Kylo by the shoulders and squeezes his arms, stepping back enough to look the younger man in the eyes. "I heard about Han."

"Yeah?" The word is a shaken, almost breathless whisper.

"Yeah."

Hux glances to Leia who has stood in silence, the faintest hint of a smile curving her mouth, her hand curled around the fabric of her tunic.

"Why don't you come inside with me, Brendol," Leia says. "I've got to get all of that food out of the oven and onto the table.  You can help me taste it." She links her arm through his own as she stoops to grab one of his bags. "Don't tell me no."

Bossy. Very much like her son. Hux smirks as he picks up Kylo's bag with his free hand.

"I would say that I could carry them both, but I suspect you might tell me where to shove that sentiment," Hux says.

"Handsome _and_ smart," Leia says with a wink. "How did my son even find you, huh?"

"Well," Hux says with a laugh. "He picked me up off the floor, actually."

"So I heard," Leia says. "A hell of a way to meet someone, if you ask me."

"I am known to be quite dramatic," Hux says

The woman beside him laughs, a hearty and robust sound as she ushers him inside the house and escorts him to the kitchen. Few walls hinder their path and Hux pauses to gape at the view from the living room and into the mountain terrain.

"Nice, isn't it?" Leia says.

"My goodness, it's breath-taking," Hux remarks.

Although absolutely confounding as to how the architecture of the house can support itself, much less be wedged into the hillside. Glass walls abound from all angles, draped in curtains and blinds.

"My father built it," Leia says, as if she senses Hux's confusion. "Well, my father and Han, really. But my father designed it. Trust me, it's not as fragile as it looks." She leads him into a kitchen furnished with stainless steel appliances and counters of grey-veined black granite. "You'll have to get Ben---eh, Kylo to take you out onto the walkway later if you're not scared of heights."

 _Ben._ Hux smiles to himself before setting the bag down. "That would be lovely."

He stands off to one side as Leia removes a roasted chicken from the oven followed by a dish of asparagus and some manner of aromatic rice that smells far more divine than any simple dish ever should.

"Jasmine rice," she says. "I wasn't sure what you liked, but everyone seems to like this."

“I can’t say that I’ve had jasmine rice,” Hux says.

Leia offers him a fork. “Well, taste it.”

The rice is strange mix of tastes, a burst of nut-like flavor with a lingering aromatic sweetness upon his palate.

“Oh,” he says. “It’s . . .quite good.”

An understatement, to say the least.

“Let me go get those two idiots.” She squeezes Hux’s arm as she passes, a smile quirking one side of her mouth. “I’m glad you came with Ben.”

“It has been my pleasure to do so,” he says.

But there is no need for Leia to fetch the missing parties, as the two have appeared at the top of the steps that lead to the sunken living room. Even from across the room, his usually reserved partner is radiant, his smile broad, the corners of his eyes heavily crinkled. The man beside him shares the joy of the sentiment, his laughter robust and uninhibited, the kimono-style robe he still wears dragging the ground with each step.

“Bren,” Kylo says he comes to stand beside him. “This is my grandfather.”

Hux cannot help but cast the man before him a scrutinizing stare of disbelief. Such a man would be close to seventy, if Hux imagined right. But this man cannot possibly be that advanced in age.

 _“Grandfather?”_ Hux repeats. “Surely not.”

“Guilty,” the man says as he extends a hand for Hux to shake. “Anakin Skywalker.”

The fingers that grasp his own are strong and certain, not at all diminished in strength or assuredness, a firm conviction.

“Brendol Hux,” he says. “Kylo has spoken quite highly of you.”

One eyebrow arches high. “Has he? Must be all lies, then.” He rubs the edge of his jaw with a thoughtful finger and tilts his head. “Brendol Hux, you say? I know that name. Not the war general’s son, are you?”

Hux stiffens just a touch. “Unless you know of another by that name, that is an unfortunate possibility.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Anakin says. He tilts his head, blue eyes sweeping Hux’s form with a brief flick of a gaze, the scar that bisects his right eye compressing with the motion. “You'll have to forgive me for staring at you like that. It's just that I didn’t know Hux had a son.”

“Yes, well,” Hux strives to smooth the bitterness of his tone into something polite and reasonable. “He does not speak of me often.”

“Hmph, that idiot.” Anakin muses. “He always was a tight-assed prick.”

“Dad!” Leia hisses with a bad attempt at hiding a smile behind her hand.

Hux laughs with a dismissive wave of his hand. “No, no. That’s quite an accurate assessment of the man.”

“See?” Anakin says. He tosses his length of braided hair behind him so that it comes to rest between his robed shoulder blades. “Well, I met your father in a Japanese tea house, if you can believe that. Hux was prick, but he had impeccable taste in tea.”

“Also not surprising.” The dancer leans against the counter. “Although I am still quite sorry that you were forced to spend any length of time with him.”

“Yeah, well . . . “ Anakin pats Hux’s shoulder as he walks towards the table. “I could tell you some stories about your red-headed fuck of a father, kid.” He pauses to glance back with a wink. “Some embarrassing ones.”

"Really?" A smirk curves his mouth. "I do believe I would very much like to hear of these stories, should you have time."

"You got it, then," Anakin says. "Now, both of you better come eat some of this food because I can damn sure eat it all myself." He nods towards Kylo. "That one probably could, too."

Kylo splays a hand over his face, but does not deny the assertion. And Hux is quite quick to believe as much, given how much resided in Kylo's cabinets at any given time.

Lunch is a relaxing event full of candor and Anakin’s rather animated storytelling prowess. Despite his age, the man has not lost the excitable buoyancy of a man far younger, his gesturing and expressions an amusing counterpoint to his words. Hux cannot remember the last time he has experienced such a thing as this, if ever. His own mother is far more reserved in her mannerisms, the conversations between them a polite reflection of the day’s events with minimal detail and little exuberance.

Beside him, Kylo slips a hand into his grasp, entangling their fingers beneath the table and nudging his foot with the tip of his boot.

“Well,” Hux says after his second helping of chicken. “I can certainly see where Kylo has acquired his culinary prowess.”

“Not from me,” Anakin says.

“Dad can’t boil water,” Leia adds.

Anakin gives a sage nod. “It’s true. She gets that from her mother. Glad to see Kylo here picked it up from her. Luke sure as hell didn't."

"My uncle," Kylo says to Hux. "Pretty sure he lives on ramen noodles and beer."

"How revolting," Hux says with a wrinkle of his nose.

"You heard from that boy lately?" Anakin asks. "Where the hell is he, anyway. China? India?"

"Who knows," Leia says. "I haven't heard from him in months." She collects the plates from her side of the table and pauses near Anakin's chair, pausing to fix him with her gaze. "He's like his father, you know."

The older man winces. "You know there's no phone reception in the temples."

"You're not in the mountains 24-7, Dad."

Leia's tone is severe, but her gaze is fond, the darkness of her eyes a near mirror image of the ones that Hux has come to know so well.

"Hey, boy," Anakin says, brushing Kylo with his shoulder. "Why don't you take Brendol out onto the walkway before it gets dark? Not sure how long this sun is going to last. You never know up here and that's something you've got to see."

"Okay," Kylo says. "But what about the--"

"I'll help your mom clean up," Anakin says.

"Damn right, you will," Leia says.

Anakin shrugs with a dramatic, helpless gesture of his hands and makes swishing motion with his fingers. "Get out. Both of you."

Kylo chuckles as he offers Hux his hand. "Come on before they get weird."

Hux arches an eyebrow as he slips his fingers into Kylo's grasp while Leia swats her father on the shoulder with a dishtowel. "Weirder than this?"

"Wait until she gets out the spatula," Kylo murmurs under his breath as he tugs Hux towards a door near the edge of the kitchen.

 

* * *

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A confession and the dark realization that some things, unfortunately, do not change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO SORRY for the lack of updates, but life happened and that led to some very serious writer's block. :/ But I'm slowly finding my bearings again and the updates shall continue. Plus, it took me a while to get to where I write this. It touches on something personal for me, but I have to go here. I just have to. 
> 
> Also? I hope someone cries when they read this. Nothing would please me more.

They venture out onto the wooden walkway sprinkled with leaves that crunch beneath their feet, the breeze rifling inquisitive fingers through Hux's short locks while flaunting the thick waves that grace Kylo's shoulders. Against the backdrop of endless gold and red, Kylo cuts a stark figure in his black leather pants and simple matching sweater. Neither out of place nor truly belonging, a strange duality that his companion so often exudes.

"Oh . . ." Hux murmurs as he comes to stand near the railing. "This view is stunning."

Trees as far as the eye can see, blended in hues of red, yellow, orange against the bright blue clarity of the mid-morning sky, a rolling landscape of autumn fire that stretches into a distance he cannot fathom. How many years had Kylo strolled along this very bridge to witness such a thing, his hand brushing the wooden rail, leaves dissolving to dust beneath his boots. Had he come here with his mother? His father? His grandfather?

"Yeah, it's nice up here," Kylo says. He leans against a corner of the railing and glances over his shoulder at the splendor that spans miles beneath them.

Hux hangs back in observance, head tilted to one side. Sunlight filters through the low hanging branches, bathing Kylo's shoulder and half of his face in pale brilliance, splaying fingers of light down his arm as he stands in quiet repose, gaze lingering upon the distant trees.

He has spent hours studying this man, the slight asymmetry of his face, the strong profile with the unmistakable nose, the sensual curve of his mouth and how his bottom lip held a touch more fullness than the top. He knew the linework of every tattoo, had traced them with his fingers while Kylo slept, knew the tactile topography of his body, and yet, he watched as if seeing Kylo for the first time.

Gods, when had this happened? Had it come upon him with such suddenness that he hadn't the time to prepare or had it been much more gradual, a subtle warmth that permeated even the coldest corners of his psyche?

He takes a hesitant step forward, pauses, and Kylo shifts his gaze from the rolling tree line, the distance in his dark eyes warming to a familiar softness that crinkles their edges. Parts of himself that Hux once believed immovable become malleable and pliant and he relinquishes a slow breath that saw fit to lodge itself within his chest.

Again with the slow tipping of his head, a gesture that has also become a familiar cue for Kylo's thought process. He extends a hand to Hux, which the dancer takes after a moment of consideration, closing the distance between them.

"What?" Kylo brushes aside a lock of Hux's windblown hair, smoothing it into place.

_What, indeed._

"I . . . " Heat threatens to creep into his fair cheeks and Hux wets his lips with an unconscious flick of his tongue. "Nothing, I suppose."

"Doesn't look like nothing."

_Keenly observant bastard._

"It's just that . . . well, somehow I have--" Hux lifts his stare to Kylo's own. "I have come to care for you far more than I imagined possible in such a short time and I haven't the faintest idea how to manage myself at this point."

A finger traces the line of his jaw before the hand slides to cup his face. Lips capture his own in a gentle, searching kiss and a second hand splays possessive fingers across the small of his back, drawing him closer.

"Does it scare you?" Kylo's mouth moves against his own, feathering gentle kisses between the words.

"Scare" is the blandest of descriptions, a laughable state. If only that were the extent of it. Hux does not answer, but rather clutches at the lapels of Kylo's coat, cranes his neck for another kiss, a hint of a moan ebbing from his lips.

"Don't be afraid," Kylo murmurs.

"But I am," Hux all but whispers in a voice he does not recognize as his own.

Lips silence any further confessing and Hux slides his arms around Kylo's neck, allows the other man to envelope him in a tight, binding embrace, as if holding Hux together somehow, keeping the warring parts of himself from splitting apart.

"Come on," Kylo says. "It's getting cold."

"Right," Hux mumbles into his coat.

It is with slow reluctance that he untangles himself from Kylo's embrace, arms sliding free of his body, Kylo's hands slipping away from the small of his back. But the warm fingers lace through his own, the depth of Kylo's soft smile crinkles the corners of his eyes and Hux lets out a breath he did not realize he held within the center of his chest.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Stars as far as the eye can see, clusters of milky brightness strewn across a pitch backdrop. His breath fogs before his eyes, the sharp bite of winter's chill a compelling contrast to the star-infused sky.

"Nice, huh?"

Kylo's dark voice within his ear, the heat of his breath a tickle of warmth upon his neck.

"I hadn't any idea there were this many stars in the galaxy," Hux muses.

"It's the light pollution in the city," Kylo says. "We don't have that here."

Hux had never considered the streetlamps and backlit buildings to be anything other than a daily norm, illuminating his path home each night, keeping a visible glow for night-going patrons who preferred to conduct their business around the bustle of daylight hours.

But now . . .

"It's stunning," Hux says. He leans back into Kylo's embrace, nuzzles the underside of his jaw. "Do you miss it?"

"Sometimes," Kylo says. He runs a hand down Hux's side beneath the shared blanket that shrouds them both. "Glad you like the view, though. City boy."

"Hmph." Hux pinches his thigh. "I'll have you know that I did _not_ grow up in the city, as you so casually assume. My childhood home was quite suburban."

"Sidewalks and streetlights and the ice cream man in summer time?" Kylo asks.

Hux chuckles, a slight hint of bitterness tingeing the sound. "Not quite that idyllic, I'm afraid."

The rental house where he had spent his childhood years was no longer viable for any sort of living space, the neighborhood unkempt and dangerous on the outskirts of the city. Strange what a decade or two could do to a place. Not that Hux missed that particular environment. The city was far more suiting to his needs than the boring drudgery of suburban life. Neither he nor his mother had been cut out for such things. It had been his father that insisted upon it, that had provided his mother with the means to raise him within the confines of a "normal" life. Although, the relationship between the two had been anything but "normal."

Behind him, Kylo smothers a yawn into the confines of the blanket and Hux reaches back to stroke his unbound hair with a short sifting of fingers.

"If you are tired, you can lie down without me," Hux says.

"Not tired," Kylo insists. "Just comfortable." A hand travels the length of his arm, rubs the space near his wrist. "If you think tomorrow will be weird, you don't have to come with me."

Hux wrinkles his nose with a frown. "Why on Earth would you say that? Was that not the entire point of this endeavor?"

"Maybe," Kylo says. "But it's . . . hard to deal with. If you're not used to it, I mean."

Hux twists his body so that he sits sideways in the other man's lap. Fingers slide to cup Kylo's face, his thumb dragging over the blade of one fair cheek. "Seeing you continue to blame yourself for it far harder."

"Yeah, well. . . ." Kylo captures his hand with his own, nuzzles Hux's palm. "It _was_ my fault."

It.  What exactly is "it?"  As much as Hux wants to prod his lover for greater detail, he keeps the words to himself.  Now is not the time.  Perhaps it never will be. 

"Does he still recognize you at all?" he asks instead.

"Not like he should." Kylo brushes a kiss across Hux's knuckles. "Mom says it's worse now." He flicks his gaze to Hux's stare. "No telling what he'll say to you. Or me."

"Hmn, well. I imagine it cannot possibly be any worse than what some of my past instructors have said to me," Hux muses. "One would think the position of my foot might become a harbinger of the next apocalypse."

Kylo chuckles. "I've had a sensei like that."

"Surely not your grandfather," Hux says.

"No." Kylo tugs the blanket tighter around Hux's shoulders, draws him closer, the tip of his nose a cold contrast to the warm skin of Hux's neck. "My grandfather is a different kind of sensei, I guess. A little unconventional."

 _"Really?"_ Hux arches an eyebrow. "I never would have guessed such a thing."

Fingers pinch his side. "Brat."

"Scoundrel."

For some time, he remains nestled in Kylo's embrace, enjoying the simple rise and fall of his chest, the even tempo of his breath as it fogs before him, the play of his fingers over his wrist, up his forearm and back down again. There are cars, no sounds of city life, no hurried pattering of feet upon a stone walkway, only the quiet rustle of leaves through more trees than the eye can see and the occasional call of an owl far in the distance. A downy fleck of ice settles upon the blanket and Hux glances up at the star-infused sky with a blink.

"Shit, is that snow?" Kylo rubs at the blanket with one hand. "I was hoping it would miss us."

"Looks that way," Hux says. "We had best go inside."

He untangles himself from Kylo's embrace, but leaves the blanket draped around his companion's shoulders, stilling Kylo's hand when he attempts to remove it.

"I do not think so, not with your temperature change-induced nonsense. You may discard it when we get inside."

A hint of smile curves Kylo's mouth as he rises to his feet without complaint. "Bossy."

But he leaves the blanket in place just the same. Upon Kylo's broad shoulders, the swath of material does not so much as touch the ground, but rather billows behind him like an absurd black cape. How strangely suiting . . .

"Mom will probably get us up early," Kylo says as he pulls the sliding glass door to the bedroom open. "It's better if we go in the morning."

"Yes, I have heard of this," Hux says. "Mornings seems best for these kinds of things."

Perhaps if not simply to get it over with for Kylo, who seems far more reluctant than he is willing to vocalize at present. Instead, they ready themselves for bed without incident, Hux slipping beneath the mountain of blankets first, Kylo following suit. The other man curls himself against Hux's chest, tucking his limbs against his body and curving his spine as if he wishes to make himself smaller somehow.

"Thanks for coming with me," Kylo mumbles against the collar of his fleece-lined pajamas.

"Of course," Hux says.

He sifts fingers through the mop of dark hair until Kylo's breathing becomes lengthy and even, his arm growing heavy upon Hux's chest.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

A dusting of snow obscures the withering grass, the trees bowed beneath the frost, the entire building cloaked in an ethereal time suspension. Beneath their booted feet, the porch creaks the four of them mount the steps.

Kylo sucks in a breath, fingers hesitating before the door. The brass knob is tinged with oxidation, a familiar dread that no longer can be avoided. Beside him, his grandfather steps forward, hand closing over the knob with a firm twist.

"It'll be alright, boy," he says. "Just go in there and spend a little time sitting with him. That's all you've got to do, you know."

Maybe. But it is not the sitting that is difficult.

A hand lights upon his back and the tension in his shoulders eases just a touch. Somehow, the simple brush of the other man's fingers is enough to incite the ability to move his feet, to step over the threshold and into the lobby, to bypass those who keenly remember him and speak to him by name, as if it has been days rather than months.

He pauses before the designated room, the green and gold patterned horror that is the carpet frayed near the edges of the baseboards, worn from the tireless padding of feet.

"Wait," he says to Hux. Flicks his gaze to both his mother and grandfather. "Could I . . could I go in alone first?"

His mother's smile is heartbreakingly kind, crinkling her eyes at the corners. It is enough to squeeze the words from his throat.

"I think that's a good idea," she says.

Was it? Kylo swallows hard, feels as though he cannot get past the tightness there, but nods just the same. Squaring his shoulders, he unlatches the door and steps inside.

The shadows cut a familiar figure as Kylo approaches, the man who sits in the aging rocking chair tipping it back at a slight angle and then forward with a quiet creak of wood. Kylo remembers that chair. He had helped to build it.

He does not speak, but rather comes to stand beside the figure in the rocker, waiting for acknowledgement, hoping for something more.

A small eternity passes before the man speaks, speech tinged with a slur that is somehow strangely fitting to the rough edge of his voice.

"Looks like bad weather coming this way," the man says. "Can't fly in that."

"No," Kylo agrees, voice a soft ring of darkness in the small space.

Another tense moment. The slow tick of the clock upon the wall. The quiet hum of the heater.

"Where is she?"

Kylo blinks. "Who?"

The man turns to face him, the deep wrinkles that etch his skin pressing into almost comical displeasure. "Who do you think, kid?"

A slow, controlled sigh escapes him and Kylo grits his teeth. "She's outside." He cants his head to one side, stares into the eyes of a face that is more familiar to him than his own some days. "Do you . . . know who I am?"

"You?" The man squints. "Hell, I don't know. Aren't you the landscaping guy? Pool boy? Some shit like that."

The edges of Kylo's fingers tremble and he fists his hand to keep the motion from traveling. "Sure," he says. "That's me."

"Well, don't just stand there, kid. Go get her. That's what she pays you for, right?"

The dismissal is a gruff reminder, a fruitless nostalgia that can never be recaptured. Always the same. Always pointless.

"I'll get her."

Fuck, he never should have come.

He trudges to the door, nudges it open to find the them standing in various states of false repose in the hallway, his grandfather examining the vase upon the small table near the edge of the door, his mother glancing out of the nearest window . . . but Hux stands in front of the door, waiting without pretense. Waiting for him.

"Mom," Kylo says. "He's asking for you."

Leia approaches him, grasps his fingers. Within her hand, his own feels lifeless, a dull, heavy weight that he allows her to manipulate.

"Did he know who you are?"

Such hope in her voice, that same strange anticipation he has come to dread more than any sound in the universe.

He flicks his gaze to her own, expression a dull reflection of the blank hollowness that seems to eclipse his every thought.

"No."

 

 

_(TBC . . . )_


End file.
